Runt of the Litter
by Tear-Storming Sea
Summary: What chance does a delayed, epileptic Ashley have for Spencer Carlin's heart, when most of her "superior" siblings are after it too?
1. Meet the Litter

**The most popular ideas seemed to be 1 and 5. Since I wasn't sure how I was going to work out a Spashley story based on a skewed version of _Romeo and Juliet_, I'm going with _Runt of the Litter_.**

**Happy Reading.**

* * *

1. Meet the Litter

The light hurts. Under the covers, now.

What am I doing? Where am I? What's that sound? Why can't I move?-

Deep breaths. Easy.

Carefully, I brush the offending sheets off and shield my eyes from the harsh LA sun. Daily panic endured, I proceed to the dresser on my side of the attic. What am I wearing? Blouse, jeans, dress, socks, underwear, bra, sweatpants, jacket, turtleneck-. Okay, focus. It's summer. T-shirt and shorts, like you've been wearing for the past two and a half months. Then, it's off to the bathroom that smells like shampoo and was probably only recently vacated. Double-checking the chart on the mirror, I take my pills, and shower. Continuing with my daily routine, I wind up in the kitchen, opening the left cabinet facing the window.

The TV in the living room is broadcasting Imus which must mean Joe is watching it in his boxers and T-shirt while working on his laptop. I've never understood how Imus was ever funny. He's a boring guy in a cowboy hat if you ask me.

Where is my Honey Bunches of Oats?

Several more seconds are wasted rifling before it occurs to me that maybe we've run out. I stop for a moment at this and then look at what else we have in the cabinet. Next, I check the refrigerator. After that, the basket of assorted food on the counter.

"Do you want to split a muffin?"

"What?" I spin around wildly and notice Talise sitting at the small kitchen table with a towel on her head and a book. "Oh, it's you."

"Sorry," she apologizes. "I did call your name a few times when you came in though," she adds a little defensively.

"I only heard the TV in the other room," I offer as an explanation.

"Figures you'd hear Dad and his cowboy," she mutters. Should I explain? Let's leave it at, Talise is my stepsister. I have other siblings and a mess of a family. Joe is my stepfather. The rest of the family is negible- uh, negligin- ack- neg-li-gi-ble. (I hate that word.) Okay, maybe they're somewhat important, but I don't like most of my family so I'm not mentioning them until it's absolutely necessary. "Do want the muffin or not?"

"Yeah." We both eat in silence for several minutes. I fumble with the paper on the muffin, and Talise reaches over to help me but stops when I glare at her. Despite this setback, I still finish first because Talise is reading her book.

"Umm..." I begin. She looks up. "Are we going or not?" It's the last day before school starts, and I'm going to take my driver's test today. The book closes with in a flutter of pages and a sigh.

"Look, Ashley, I still don't think this a good idea."

"Why not? We've been over this a thousand times Talise." I say, frustrated.

"And yet somehow it doesn't penetrate that thick skull of yours. What if you have a seizure when you're driving? You could kill someone."

"I know when they're coming. I'll pull off to the side of the road. " My hands are clenched into fists.

"Then, what? What if you have another big one and you don't have time to call for help?"

"What if you have a spasmadic foot cramp? For God's sake, do you think I want to have to ask you for a ride to the beach every few days? It's been almost a year since I had a seizure. Dr. Sherman's already signed the forms." We've spent the entire summer preparing for this, and she's going to bail on me now? At this point, I'm pacing back and forth. I'm eighteen. I want to drive and be free. "You might be okay with living in your parents' house for the rest of your life, but I'm getting out of here once I finish high school if I have to walk!"

"Will you be practical for once? You know that with your-"

"You're exactly like everyone el-else. You can act l-like y-your better, but you same. Think I not good... second..." I grasp for syntax and grammar and pronunciation, but my speech is falling apart. That brings me close to angry tears. Slamming my fist on the table, I push out away from the table and storm up the stairs.

From the room I share with Talise I can hear Joe faintly snapping at her over "causing disturbances at 8A.M.", managing to cause another in the process. I burrow into the darkness of my sheets. In my ticked off mood, they're too rough, and I kick them off, snarling. Joe and Talise might as well be right in front of me. If they were in front of me this wouldn't be so bad. Joe must be screaming his silly head off, and Talise is probably giving him her cold look because I don't hear her anymore. The more I try to ignore it, the more prominently his voice rings in my head which doesn't help my mood.

Sensory integration dysfunction is one of the most annoying symptoms of Dravet's Syndrome. The seizures scare people, but on a daily basis my senses mess me up more these days. I've gone through lots of therapy to increase my tolerance, but it doesn't go away completely. Basically, my brain doesn't know how to organize all my senses, so I'll be more aware of a conversation across the room, or get annoyed by television when I'm trying to sleep even if no one else can hear Joe's stupid show. When I was younger, my moth-. Well, my mother isn't worth mentioning. Why don't we leave it at, I don't always seem to act rationally, especially when I'm angry.

I hear footsteps so Talise must be in the room again, but I'm not looking up from my furious, determined pacing.

"Are we going or not?" I look up upon hearing the words. She's just standing there, looking slightly awkward.

"I guess," I respond, refusing to sound happy.

As we're walking out the front door, Talise blurts out with air of somebody who has been waiting to say something for a long time, "Spasmadic foot cramps? Really, Ashley?" I shrug sheepishly. "The word is spasmodic by the way."

"Crucify me why don't you," I mutter.

* * *

Grinning widely, I pull the car into our driveway. I haven't been able to stop since I got my driver's license.

"You know 'grinning from ear to ear' is just an expression, right? You're not actually supposed to do it," Talise grumbles peevishly.

I smirk. "You're just annoyed because I was right, for once."

"'For once' being the operative words."

"And jealous that I'm a better driver," I cackle in a sing-song way.

"How do you figure that?"

"Because I can parallel park, and you just glare at the steering wheel." She grunts something unintelligible, and my grin only widens. It's getting almost painful now. After my very successful driving test, we decided to enjoy the last day of summer for all it's worth. Technically, college has already started for Talise, but she didn't have any classes today.

We're just back in time for the dinner that my mother, who is such a "family woman", "made". By "made", I mean she told the cook exactly what she wanted all the food to look and taste like and then spent the next hour or so selecting the perfect bottle of wine. Joe comes in a few minutes later in a suit, which shows that he must have gotten his ass off his rocking chair sometime around noon and actually gone to the office.

"Such a beautiful dinner, Christy," he simpers to my mother. Am I the only one who ever thinks he sounds phony?

Kyla's setting plates on he table, and Ben is "helping" the poor cook. Aiden enters with a bit of a strut, and Waldo follows a few minutes later, having probably been playing video games all day.

"Tali, dear," my mother calls mellifluously (see? I know big words) out to "Tali", who hates nicknames almost as much as she hates being called "dear". "Would you give everybody a glass?"

Suppressing an eye roll, Talise makes her way over to the wine cabinet. "No problem, mother. And if you would call me Talise that would be great."

"Of course, dear," is the response when we all know that tomorrow she'll do the exact same thing. Talise calls my mother "mother". The story goes that a five-year old Talise once asked Christine what she was supposed to call her. My mother, being the charitable saint that she is, told her, "why call me mother of course", and since then, Talise has dutifully referred to her "mother" even though it makes her sound like she's living in the 1700's. I don't call my mother much of anything. Occasionally, "Christine" in my head, but I've never actually needed to address her with a name as far as I can remember.

Aiden bumps into me with the silverware and gives me smiles smugly when my mother shoots me a look.

"If you're not going to do anything, stay out of the way, Ashley," she tells me. I've been hearing that for many years now, so I ignore it with skill. Christine has two basic ways to deal with "my condition" on any given day. Number one: pretend, as far as is humanly possible, that it doesn't exist. Number two: pretend that I don't exist as far as is humanly possible.

Finally, we all begin eating. The seating plan goes as follows: Joe on one end of the table, with Aiden on his right, followed by Talise and me. My mother is on the other end of the table and to her right is Kyla, then Ben, and at last Waldo.

"How was the office, Joey?" my mother asks.

"Now, wait till you hear this. This lady just came...". I'm too busy trying to get a good grip on these new knives, The handles are irritating. There's this weird part jutting out, and I can't really grip it to cut my veal. "And then she..." Joe just keeps going on and on about this woman who he says was basically screwing the government, his watery blue eyes wide and his balding head bobbing as he tells his story, as though this is the most... the best thing we've heard all day. No, Joe, you don't twist laws all the time. Joe helps people deal with their insurance companies, and that's all I care enough to know about. He's not a criminal lawyer. Criminal lawyers don't make as much money.

We "listen" to this story for fifteen minutes before Joe takes a long pause. "How about you Kyla?" Christine asks. Joe looks like he had more to say, but shuts up to listen to Kyla.

"Well, other than the freshmen, there are only six new students this year." Kyla said. "This girl though, her brother and her just moved in fromOhio.

Under her breath, Talise mutters, "_she _and her brother". No one hears her, but me of course. Waldo is playing with his knife, seeing how far it will flex while Aiden and Joe talk about law. Aiden chose to follow in daddy's footsteps become a big shot lawyer this year.

"She's so pretty though," Kyla continues babbling about the new girl at her private school. Ben looks up. It's his New Year's Resolution to get a girlfriend this year even if it means stealing his twin sister's latest crush. All year they've been competing in vain because in the end the girl doesn't choose either one of them. Kyla, who's bisexual, will like a pretty girl, and then Ben will decide that he likes the same girl. As far as I can tell, they've always been like this. Kyla gets good grades, so Ben tries to get better ones and so on and so forth.

He hasn't even seen whoever this girl is yet, but he'll go after her just because Kyla likes her. The only reason Kyla's met this girl already is because she's on the Eckhardt's Academy's school committee and was giving tours around the school while Talise and I were having ice cream.

Eckhardt's is a big, fancy private school that you actually have to be smart to get into. In other words, every kid in this family, except me, goes there or has been there. Instead, I go to King High and ignore the fact that the faucet water is yellow.

My knife refuses to cooperate, and I give up. Stabbing the pork chop viciously with my fork, I use my teeth to try and rip pieces off.

"Ashley, be civilized and use your knife." Amazing, Christine actually does notice me sitting right next to her occasionally. She forgets in the next moment though, and asks, "How was your day, Tali?".

Another eye roll successfully fought off before Talise replies, "good," and returns to her pork chop. I'm settling for salad at this point.

"Now don't be shy, and tell us about your day," my mother cajoles. You'd think that after eleven years, she would learn that, for Talise, food is more important than conversation.

"I took Ashley to get her driving test, went to the beach, and had an ice cream," Talise says with a stifled sigh.

The salad dressing is just plain weird, but force my unruly taste buds to tolerate it.

"And how did your test go, Ashley?" I'm surprised that she even said anything to me. Remember, swallow then talk.

"I passed and-"

"That's nice," my mother says and turns to ask Waldo how far he's gotten on Halo-something, (what is it anyways now? 15?).

As usual, my mother makes some comment about us all being such a wonderful family. That makes my blood boil. It always does and always will. We are not all one big wonderful family at all. Joe is not my father. I love my Dad. He calls me every night even though he's on tour. Christine likes to blame their divorce on his singing career, but as far as I'm concerned, that's just to cover up the fact that she was cheating on him.

Here's the family story: Aiden and Talise are twins from Joe's first marriage. They have the similar dark hair, carved features, and clear gray eyes. Their mother died after giving birth, but not before naming them "little fire" and "beautiful water" respectively. The two now "spend the rest of our lives getting our names butchered by the ignorant population" according to Talise. Aiden's a jerk and Talise is a grammar Nazi.

Only a few months after the twins' birth, my mother, award-wining actress and model Christine Woods, had me with my father, rock star Raife Davies. I was born with Dravet's syndrome and had my first seizure at 5 months. While I've never been told this in so many words, I'm pretty sure that for my mother, who was never a baby person to begin with, this was the last straw. She began an affair not long after with widower Joseph Dennison. An affair that lasted 7 years and resulted in the births of Kyla, Benjamin, and Wallace Dennison (though Kyla prefers to take her/my mother's name).

All three are smart. Kyla's nice to everyone, so I don't trust her sincerity. Ben tries to be better than everyone and usually fails. There was another Wally in Waldo's kindergarten class, so we started calling him Waldo. (Talise thinks it makes him sound like the family dog.) He's technology smart. Good with anything that has metal in it.

During her seven year affair, the loving Christine Davies always made sure to take care of her secret brood, including those who weren't related to her by blood. Of course she left diaper changing to the nurses, but she was always "there for them". As a result, she was never there for me. When my mother was playing housewife at the Dennison house, I was left at the Davies estate with an army of "help" and, whenever he could wangle some time off, my father.

Dad only ever cared if I was okay, which let him turn a blind eye to the fact that my mother was always mysteriously pregnant. He taught me music on guitar, piano, and drums. He also taught me to practice every day so my mother was pleasantly surprised when she was left with her musical prodigy after the divorce. Even if I hated light, bounced off the walls, and went into "staring spells", I was still part of her showcase brood.

Then, when I was nine, the "big one" struck. A full on tonic-clonic, grand mal, whatever you want to call it seizure happened. The type that everyone associates with epilepsy, and I was stuck in status epilepticus for over an hour which isn't good for your brain. Afterwards, I lost a lot of fine motor and language skills. Apparently, I was lucky. I gave up trying to coordinate my fingers on any instrument after that. Dad took an entire year off to make sure that I would be okay. I couldn't even get dressed on my own. In the end, withdrawn and careful Talise ended as my assistant. Everyone else had too much going on in their lives to take care of a girl who could barely speak anymore. If it was anyone else, I'd say that giving a nine-year old responsibility for her epileptic sister is funny. We weren't a perfect match, but we managed to make it work for nine years. With time, therapy, and Talise's inner grammar Nazi, I made it at least back to school, even if I'm two years behind and in all the lowest classes. I still struggle to learn new things, but at least when I finish high school, I'll be fairly independent.

Somehow, out of all of this Christine Woods became a hero for women neglected by their husbands. She and Joe became the poster parents for the perfect balance of family and success. It makes me sick.

_That_ is our wonderful family.

Feel free to barf anytime.


	2. Why School Sucks

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Thanks for just reading it too. I don't think that it's really fair of me to ask for reviews when I'm not a great reviewer myself. All things aside, here's the (shorter) second chapter.**

Why School Sucks

Talise is the only one up when I leave for the first day of school. The younger kids don't start school until next Monday so everyone else is sleeping until they have to get up.

"Don't call me while I'm in a class unless its an emergency. If I get in trouble, I'll gut you with a saber. I do have a period of nothingness from 2:45 to 3:45 so if your car doesn't work or something call. Otherwise, I'll be typing up my essay." Her eyes are soft with concern. She knows how much I hate the start of the school year.

"The car hasn't even been driven before. I doubt it will spontaneously combust."

"Yes, but because this is the first time there might be something wrong that we don't know."

"Since when were you a car expert?"

"Since never. It's called common sense."

"If the car does spontaneously combust, I'll give you my inheritance."

"Deal." Then, I leave.

There's something exhilarating about being able to drive to school. It must have something to do with the knowledge that you are in control. You could have decided to take a left and come around another way, but you didn't. Despite my euphoria, first day of school jitters still crash over me.

I park the car my Dad got me for my sixteenth birthday two years ago somewhere near the back of the parking lot in slip out unnoticed. My new locker is by the art room. Last night, Talise and I went over my schedule with a map of King to make sure I knew where I was going and what to bring with me when. After the disastrous first week back I had last year, I was more than willing to sacrifice my pride for this.

It isn't until I'm on my way to my first class when the first catastrophe occurs.

"Hey, sped. Why are you in such a rush? Class doesn't start for another 20 minutes," someone jeers. They know exactly why I'm heading to class already. Like vultures, if there's one circling, I can guarantee more within minutes. With more urgency, I set off for my first class which is all the way on the other side of the building. Stupid, really, because predators love a good chase. Next thing I know, a foot sends me flying through the air. I force myself to keep it together as I collect my scattered belongs amidst the taunting laughter. It's all free entertainment for them.

I hate school.

Remarkably, I do make it to my first class, despite the pack of kids that have loyally hounded me since elementary school. Madison and Sherry have always been good at turning people against me. According to them, I'm lazy and spoiled. Everyone is willing to make concessions for me because I'm Raife Davies daughter. I stayed behind two years in school after I threw a temper tantrum and refused to go. No private school would take me, no matter how much my parents offered to pay, and I'm too arrogant to talk to anyone. Add to that the fact that I am too proud to take pity offers, and you've got a recipe for loner-ship.

There are new additions to the pack this year. A freshman girl who looks like a puppy trying to please is calling me the least creative names I've ever heard, and there's a big guy with blond hair and blue eyes using his "manly" laugh to catch Madison's attention. I hate blue eyes. When I had to read _The Giver_ in seventh grade (I'm not a book person, but that was even more horrible than usual), the character went on and on about how blue eyes have depth. They don't. Blues eyes are either... diluted, I think, like Joe's or very intense, cold, hard and cruel. Under no circumstances do they have any depth.

Lunch is a disaster. You'd think that in high school bullies would have more sophisticated forms of torture than stealing your lunch. But, nope, bullies don't seem to learn much. Currently, the blond guy from earlier is waving my pizza in the air and threatening to eat it if I don't tell him what 2 plus 2 is. By now, I know better than to play these games. Even saying something is dangerous. Too much time cooped in an attic with Talise has improved my vocabulary, but in a verbal sparring match, I'll just make a fool of myself.

I try to walk out of the cafeteria, but this blond guy out-maneuvers me.

"Nuh-uh," he says in a baby's voice. "You can't leave until you tell me what two plus two is." My patience is wearing thin, but I keep my face stony. Instead, I change this into a waiting game. I pretend I'm refusing to talk to Talise or just listening to Joe or my mother lecture me on my shortcomings like they do once every few months. "Come on, don't tell me you don't know? You can't be that stupid." Yes, blockhead, I know what two plus two is. You're the one that needs to ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madison and Sherry watching. I would risk a smart remark back if it were just this guy who doesn't seem so bright, but I know that if it turns into a verbal war, I won't be able to confront three people. Never pick a fight you can't win. The boy takes a bite out of my pizza. Clearly, he doesn't care about the fact that I've already bitten into it. "Mmm. Why don't you just tell me what two plus two is and you can enjoy your pizza?" As more time passes, he becomes uneasy and a little self-conscious of the fact that he looks like an idiot standing around with a piece of pizza above his head.

Just when I think he might shuffle awkwardly away, something cold soaks into my scalp and down my neck. Whirling around, I find Madison, Sherry, and the gaggle of cheerleaders laughing with a chocolate milk carton. Didn't even have the decency to use water. The heat of anger and shame in my cheeks only doubles when the blond jerk drops the pizza down the back my shirt.

Off to the bathroom.

Spanish, which I have after lunch this year, is my favorite subject. I'm actually good at it. When I was in eighth grade it hit me that I was stuck in a rut. Even if I did well in my class, more advanced classes would still learn more than me, and I'd still be behind no matter how hard I tried. On the other hand, Spanish was different. Almost everybody would start a foreign language next year. If I started out strong, I could end up in advanced foreign language classes at least. The summer between eighth and ninth grade was spent wildly drilling in Spanish with Talise. Reading and writing were what worried me most, but to my surprise, written Spanish was actually easier than written English. Spanish is a very phonetic language. Once I learned words aurally it was a lot easier to spell them than it was in English. (Spelling and reading have always been my pitfalls.) As long as I didn't panic and rush, my Spanish was very accurate. Additionally, Mr. Ellis, our Spanish teacher, is tough, but good. Most kids hated having him, but I was overly prepared for Spanish to be lethal that I was pleasantly surprised that I survived. I even had the pleasure of showing up Madison who claims to know the language already. I'm thinking about majoring in it although I don't know what I'll do after.

Being in Spanish soothed my frayed nerves enough for me to get through the rest of the day. The first few weeks of school are always hard. The vultures are hungry, having been deprived of victims all summer, and I'm soft after a peaceful 2 months. Still, I make it until the bell rings at 2:30. The sun glares at me with all its leftover summer heat. Weaving my way through cars, I keep catching hushed whispers and giggles. It isn't until I get to my car that I find out why.

Of course, this day isn't over yet though because when get outside my windshield is covered in a thick layer of lotion. Yeah, lotion. I tested it. There's laughter all around. For a moment, I'm too stunned to do anything. Apparently bullies do learn new tricks. All around the lot there are taunts flying about how I thought that my car needed sun lotion. This is moisturizing lotion, but there's no point in telling them that.

At first, I frantically attempt to wipe it off with my sleeves to the hoots of students who usually would already have left. Nobody considers helping. They've grown too used to it. Eventually, I decide to try the windshield wipers, but when I spray water on it, the lotion smears on my window. Unwilling to leave my car to face the sneers again, I call Talise.

"Hello?" Talise sounds bored.

"Can you bring some towels to the King parking lot?"

"Why?" How do I explain this?

"My car is uh... covered in lotion."

"Okay... sure." Then, she hangs up.

With the LA traffic, most of the people have gone before Talise arrives, armed with towels. Only a few cars are left in the student parking lot. Waiting alone, I glance up to a tap on the window to see the blond kid from earlier grinning at me.

"Gonna wait here until the sun dries off the lotion?" he mocks. "You should have seen yourself trying wipe off the windshield." I'm angry and really shouldn't say anything so I keep my mouth shut. "What? Can't you even talk? Retard." Yesterday, I was so excited about being able to drive and step towards independence, but they couldn't take that could they? They couldn't let me be happy about anything. They can't stand to have me not in misery. I'm crying, I know it. He's still saying something, but I'm too furious to notice.

I push past him out of the car, determined to walk home if I have to. Luckily, Talise chooses to pull up then. The creep, whatever his name is, doesn't connect Talise with me and keeps spewing junk out of his mouth, and I'm trying not to let her see that I'm crying. Stupid really, because Talise, the girl who hates scenes, drama, and conflicts of any kind, is walking over with a growing frown. When what's-his-name pauses to take a breath, Talise interjects frostily.

"Are you quite done?"

He jerks around shocked to see anyone there. Now, he's nervous because Talise is pulling off the full Dennison haughty glare. Aiden uses it on me all the time. Eyebrows both arched and lowered at the same time with lips curled; nose upturned; and eyes judging contemptuously down at him, even though the jerk is much taller. _I don't like you, and if you don't think that matters you're dead wrong because your life is over._ The last time Talise employed it on me was when we were both nine, and she was in no way pleased to be saddled with a useless kid. Now, however, the guy is shifting from foot to foot, unsure of just what Talise could and might do. Uncomfortably, he leaves.

Talise tosses me a towel, and we wipe all the lotion off the car. I focus on getting everything off so that I don't have to look at her.

"You want to drive back?"

I shake my head wordlessly. Silence blares at us on the drive home. Once we're safe in our attic, I curl up on my bed and sob. Talise clumsily pats my back.

_I fumbled with the buttons on my shirt. My mind seemed separated from my fingers by a wall, and my actions grew more separate as the seconds ticked by. Shoving my fingers out of the way Talise impatiently pushes them into their holes. _

_"I showed this to you four times already," she snarled angrily. "It's not that hard to button a shirt. Will you stop being so stupid?"_

_I broke into tears. Why couldn't I do this stupid thing? Why wouldn't my fingers just push the button through the hole? Talise's glare smoldered, burning an image of two furious eyes deep into my memory._

I guess I can't blame Talise for that day years ago. She was only nine, with no understanding of understanding. Sometimes, I can't help but be bitter about it though.

It has been nine years since I came home on the first day of school and didn't cry.


	3. Runs In The Family

**It's the long chapter 3 in which Spencer arrives on the scene. Don't know exactly what will happen next, but hopefully I'll figure out soon.**

**Happy reading!**

3. Runs In The Family

The week continues because life will still go on. When Monday rolls around, Kyla, Ben and Waldo start school. Kyla and Ben's little competition only grows. The twins are starting their junior year while Waldo begins eighth grade.

Two weeks into school, Kyla and Ben saunter through the door yelling while Talise and I are having an epic checkers battle. Harsh voices jar me from my planning.

"She was smiling at me, Benjamin! You know that. Stop lying!" Kyla looks like she is about to take off his head.

Ben who enjoys the irritation he's causing merely shrugs and says, "I know what I saw."

"Will you stop doing that?" Kyla demands.

"What?" Ben asks as though he doesn't realize that his every move is infuriating to Kyla at the moment.

"Every time, you try to steal whatever girl I like. I'm beginning to think that the next time I get excited about a guy, you'll go after him too."

"Yeah...".

Their agitated voices fade down the hall.

"King me," says Talise, moving her black checker piece to my side of the board.

A few days later I am in bed trying not to vomit into my pillow. Going downstairs in the early afternoon for some water, I was suddenly hit by an overpowering wave of nausea and lowered myself carefully to the floor, taking deep breaths, afraid that if I moved everything would come pouring out of my stomach. I probably would have stayed there for the rest of the day, but Talise found me and helped me get to bed. It's a side effect of my medication, but there are worse ones. Besides, as long as they keep the seizures away, I'll live with it.

Talise goes to dinner, and tells them that I'm not feeling up to eating tonight. No one will question her judgment. She has long been accepted as the family authority on me and "my condition".

My mother is fond of telling people, "Talise and Ashley have always been such a pair. You'd never be able to tell that they don't share blood. They're kindred spirits. It's amazing how well Talise understands Ashley." Can you believe how close we are after Talise has been the only person I've talked to in person regularly for the last nine years? Shocking, isn't it?

Dad makes his daily call, stirring life back into me. No matter what tour he's on, or what he's up to, he always makes sure to call. I can't always call him because in some countries his cell phone doesn't work.

"Hey."

"Hi there, sweetie. Are you okay? You sound sick."

"I'm fine just nauseous," I reply, not feeling particularly talkative.

"Well, do you need to get some rest? I'll go." He's about to hang up when I stop him.

"No! Wait. Sing 'Puff'."

"Okay, okay." I hear lots of shuffling on the other end. Then, gently, "Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honnah Lee" comes crackling out of my phone. I join him for the last chorus. "You're so spoiled, you know. What if my fans say if they heard Raife Davies singing 'Puff, the Magic Dragon'. I'd be chased off of every stage by laughing mobs."

"Goodnight, Daddy," I say, giggling slightly to myself.

"Humph, you're lucky I love you."

"Love you too." Smiling, I close my phone. After a few more boring minutes pass, I decide to get a glass of water. I still haven't gotten one even though I set out with that intention three hours ago.

When I first rise, the nausea pushes me back into a crouching position where I breathe deeply for a minute before rising back up the rest of the way. Carefully, I walk to the hatch and ladder that leads out of the attic. With caution, I descend first the ladder and then the steps. By the time I reach the ground floor, I'm feeling better. All this time, I've been assaulted by the sounds of Kyla and Ben in yet another argument. They've been arguing a lot lately, so I'm assuming that the courtship of whoever the girl is this time isn't going well.

"I've _got_ it, Ben." Kyla snarls. "Here you go, Spencer," she says sweetly.

"Umm... thanks," offers whatever poor soul that they've got trapped in the dining room. Stealthily, I creep into the kitchen unnoticed.

"Allow _me_ to help you with that, Spencer," Ben suggests gallantly.

"It's fine... um... I can do it myself."

"No, no, I insist." I can just imagine his overeager smile exposing his molars.

"Leave her alone, Ben," Kyla cuts in. "She said no. I doubt she wants you to help her."

"How do you know that? She's not your pet. Let her speak for herself." For a moment after that, all I hear is the sound of water dropping from the refrigerator into my glass.

"I um... have to go to the bathroom."

"I'll show you where it is!"

"No! _I_ will."

"I'll find it myself!" the girl- Spencer nearly screams. A chair is violently pushed back, and next thing I knew, a blond girl bursts into the kitchen and leans against the door, breathing heavily. Fascinated, I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she heaves a sigh and the way her hair swings from her bent head, obscuring her face.

Suddenly, I jerk back at the shock of cold water overflowing onto my hand. The rapid movement causes more water to splash everywhere. Spencer looks up with blue eyes and a flash of fear before deciding that I wasn't a threat or an unwanted suitor. From the dining room Kyla and Ben are squabbling about who scared her away. Neither of us says a word.

"Hi..." I mumble. My social skills are nonexistent. She must not hear because she continues to stare at me. Damn it. I'm probably a mess with wrinkled clothes, tangled hair and spilled water. If I look anything like I felt only thirty minutes ago, I look like a corpse. She, on the other hand, could be on magazine covers. At any rate, she's prettier than my mother. Studying the floor, I start to retreat upstairs.

"Wher-" I turn around at the sound of her voice. Before she can finish whatever she was saying, Waldo sprints in the room.

"Spencer! I l-" Then, he sees me and stops mid-sentence. For a few more seconds, he mouths uselessly. "I-I j-just wanted y-you..." he stutters, growing progressively redder. He draws patterns on the floor with his feet and his hands are clasped behind his back. As abruptly as he entered, Waldo scurries back into the dining room. Somewhere in the dining room, Talise is unsuccessfully trying not to laugh.

Between the strangled noise and the look of absolute terror on Spencer's beautiful face, I break down into uncontrollable laughter. At some point, I remember that I'm still a little queasy and imagine how weird it would look if I started to vomit in the middle of my glee. That only makes me laugh harder. Water has long been jolted out of my glass, and I slam the empty cup onto the counter. Eventually, Spencer snickers too. It's slightly hysterical, but that only makes the entire situation funnier.

Finally, we manage to pull ourselves together. Rummaging through several drawers, I search for towels to clean up the water that's all over the floor.

"Let me help," Spencer says, taking a towel out of my hands.

"Thanks," I croak from my dry throat. Both of us get to wiping up the floor.

"So, I'm Spencer Carlin," she informs me.

"Ashley Davies."

"Don't you live here though?" For a moment, I'm puzzled. Then, I realize she's referring to my last name.

"It's a messy family." I reply shortly.

"Oh." She doesn't pry further. Usually, I'd simply let the conversation die, finish mopping up the floor and return to the attic, but I have a strange anxiety to keep this conversation going and hear her say something else.

"Kyla says you're from Ohio..." I drift off.

"Yeah, Carroll, Ohio. Otherwise known as smallest town on the face of the Earth."

"Really?"

"Well, there are smaller ones, but the last population count was 400 something people."

"Um... 400's still a big number?" I grasp wildly for anything to say. Spencer's very blue eyes search mine, looking for signs of insanity.

"You realize that most LA schools have more people than that?"

"Right," I mutter, wishing I could disappear before I make a bigger fool of myself. Too late for that. I'm the idiot who decided to open my mouth, and now I'm dealing with the consequences. "Do you like LA?"

"Sort of. You can't see the stars, and it's kind of insane here."

"What makes you think that? The drivers screaming at each other or the twins that have to compete over everything?" Finished with my cleaning, I put my towel on the counter, and Spencer does the same.

"About that, why is your sister so crazy?" Surprised, I gape at her. Really, Spencer? I thought you were smart. Obviously, Kyla has the world's biggest crush on you.

"You're joking, right? You can't possibly be that blind."

"Honestly, I have no idea."

"How to put this delicately... she has a crush on you." To my shock, she laughs. I stand there wondering what's so funny.

"Good one. Now, what's the real reason?" Very slowly, as though speaking to an alien, I repeat myself.

"_She_" I point to the dining room for emphasis, "has a _crush_" using my hands, I make a heart, "on _you_", here I point at Spencer. Confusion clouds her clear eyes.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No..." I wait to see if this revelation will make her explode.

"But she's a _girl_," Spencer states.

"She's a _bisexual_ girl." I really hope Spencer doesn't ask me what that means.

"So she thinks..."

"She thinks you're cute, beautiful, funny, elegant, sweet, smart," I'm listing all the things Kyla has said about Spencer so far. It's not hard because Kyla's been saying these things about every girl she's liked. I haven't eaten a single dinner all year where I didn't hear about Kyla's love life. "As well as hot, gorgeous, sexy, amazing."

Normally, I think that Kyla is being ridiculous when she tells us about these girls, and it would be too embarrassing to tell anybody this, but Spencer really seems like she could be all these things and more.

"Okay, okay. I get the idea." She looks freaked out. Should I try to cheer her up? How am I supposed to do that?

"Are you okay?" I ask. "You could always see my psychiatrist if you want? His name is Manny Louis Cruise." I purposely slur together the last two words.

Will she get it?

She's just staring at me right now. Suddenly she throws her head back and laughs, causing me to break out into a wide grin. I allow myself to purely enjoy her delight un-veiled by confusion or my own happiness. It's mesmerizing to watch her. Listening to "Car Talk" for years finally paid off.

"Why weren't you at dinner?" Oh yeah.

"I was feeling kind of sick so I stayed in our room, but I got better and thirsty so I came down for some water."

I'm beginning to relish this conversation. Ever since I started taking medicine for my seizures, I feel hopeless or irritated for no reason. Everything is cast slightly in shadows. Dr. Sherman said that it wasn't too unusual and to call her if I'm feeling suicidal. (Dr. Sherman's nice, but if I was going to kill myself, I wouldn't tell anyone.) Talking to Spencer makes the world seem... lighter. It was easy to smile and just talk. It didn't matter that people hated me or I would be stuck with an illness for the rest of my life as long as I could make her laugh.

Picking the glass off the counter where I'd set it, Spencer filled it up at the refrigerator. "Here. Since my suffering made you spill your water everywhere, you may as well take this."

"Yes, thank you," I say, taking it. "Thank you for offering me water from my own refrigerator."

"Oh, it was no big deal." I down the water in less -fewer- (aren't you proud Talise?) than five seconds without pausing. "Still thirsty?" I nod and hold my glass out for her. Rolling her eyes, she fills it up again. This time it takes me longer to drink it, but I finish it off quickly none the less and wipe my hand across my mouth.

"So... now what?" I ask.

"I really don't want to go back there." She's giving me a "please don't leave me here with the monsters" look. Who am I to resist that?

"Do you want to go to the attic with me?"

"Why the attic?"

Not understanding her question at all, I answer, "Why not?"

"Uh... okay."

I lead the way back up. The second floor is mostly where my mother and Joe sleep. There's a couple of guest rooms on one side, but mostly it's the master suite. Spencer's eyes widen in amazement.

"Your house is huge. Wait! There's another floor?" Her wonder makes me giggle.

"Yup. More than one, actually." The third floor is taken up by Waldo, Kyla, Ben, and Aiden. There isn't a single empty room on this floor, partly because they each take up more than one room. Continuing through two more hallways, we proceed to the fourth floor which has multiple rooms containing various items including: the piano I used to play, a few giant TVs, exercise equipment, and other junk. Sometime along our journey, I grabbed Spencer's hand, without even realizing it, to tow her up the steps because she's too busy gawking to walk for herself. Now, having reached the hatch, I pull the string that brings down the creaky ladder and reluctantly release her hand. I gesture for Spencer to go first, but she nearly screams when the ladder squeaks and leaps off. Usually, I'm the one with no athletic ability so I'm pleased to dart up the ladder, just to prove that it can be done.

"Don't worry. I'm the world's least coordinated person, and I haven't broken a leg on this yet," I reassure her.

"So you've just cracked your skull then?"

"Funny. Either you go first and have me as a cushion if you do fall for some reason or second and risk stepping on wood already weakened by my weight."

"Or I could not go at all." It took me a moment to figure out a good response to that.

"Do you think that you could find your way back down?" I remind her, grinning wickedly. With a pout and a glare, she begins to climb.

There are about fifteen rungs on the ladder. Soon enough we reach the attic. The only temperature regulated room in the attic is the big bedroom that Talise and I sleep in. Giddily, (I've never gotten to show anyone around the attic before) I let her glance into the room with two beds, a computer, and poems plastered all over the walls but tug her away before she can get a good look. There's another place I'm more eager to show her.

Quickly, I drag her along one of the narrow passages. Then, I drop her hand again to hoist myself on top of a sort of ledge at waist height. Breathless, Spencer follows. The ledge leads to a tunnel which opens into a room that has a huge slanted skylight instead of a ceiling and roof. It's barely tall enough to stand up in at it's highest point, but Talise and I have an air mattress and comforter here. When I look out the window though, I nearly droop with disappointment. In all my excitement, I had never thought that they might not be there.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I kick the edge of the mattress in frustration. Spencer, who had been panting and looking at the dusty room, notices.

"What's wrong?"

"Sometimes, we're far enough from the lights to see the stars from here but not tonight," I respond numbly.

"It's not the end of the world, but it was nice of you to try. Better than staying with your... enthusiastic siblings." I glance at her, and she smiles. "Besides, now I know I just got dragged around a mansion for nothing." Seeing that I'm not comforted by her words at all, she continues, "it's probably too early for the stars. Let's wait."

We settle on the mattress. I pull out the supply of chocolate hidden there and discover that I'm ravenous. "Do you want a Hershey Kiss?" Spencer takes it and we talk. Nothing important, just a lot of little things. For instance, how annoying the dishwasher is to load properly. Lots of times, Spencer refers things and people I've never heard of. It's probably an effect my isolation, but I let her think that it's because she's from "Nowheresville". I don't tell her about my family or "condition". It's nice to have someone who doesn't know.

"Ashley!" Talise shouts from somewhere else in the attic.

"At the skylight with Spencer," I holler back.

"Tell Spencer that her brother is on his way to pick her up," Talise yells, sounding much closer. I turn towards Spencer who gets up, brushing the dust off her shirt.

We are about to descend when Spencer cries, "Wait! Look, it's a star!"

Sure enough, shining faintly in the sky is a solitary white star.

"Well, we didn't come up for nothing then," I remark with a relieved smile.

"It wasn't for nothing ten minutes ago either." Then, less seriously, "you saved me from the horror that is Kyla and Ben."

"At your service," I state, snapping a salute that nearly sends me tumbling down the attic. Laughing, Spencer helps me get down without killing myself.

Talise, Spencer, and I arrive to the family frantically searching for Spencer.

"Found her," Talise mentions serenely. The more anxious other people are, the greater pleasure she takes in being calm.

"Oh my god, Spencer! You had no idea how worried we were about you-" Kyla shrieks, missing the way Spencer flinches at the volume.

"I was worried too!" Ben interrupts his sister urgently. Real subtle, Ben.

Almost immediately, the situation deteriorates into a full-blown war, but my family has developed a certain immunity to the twins' disturbances over the last several years. Waldo gazes at Spencer, star-struck. Knowing Joe, he's probably holed up somewhere right now with a beer and old movie. My mother edges over to engage Spencer in conversation, completely ignoring me. Typically, I'd get away from her, but I stick close to Spencer, hoping to get a final word with her before she leaves. Awkward and bored, I pick up a conversation Talise and Aiden are having a short distance away.

"-more hilarious by the moment. Don't tell me you like Spencer too," Talise snickers.

"So what? She's hot." Aiden asserts.

"Still in high school," Talise sing-songs.

"She's a junior."

"And you must _really_ like her."

"She's just nice to look at," he insists.

"I might believe that if you weren't stuttering throughout dinner." Aiden too? Why does every single person in my family seem to have a crush on Spencer?

"I was not," he scoffs.

"Oh come on, Aiden, you're as bad as Kyla and Ben."

"Kyla and Ben are hopeless, but I've got all the appeal," Aiden brags.

"Yeah right," Talise says, rolling her eyes.

"Of course I do. Kyla and Ben are trying to be all tough and cool, but I can make a fool of myself without ever seeming like an idiot. They laugh, and when their guards are down, I strike." Aiden is making me angrier than usual tonight.

"That might be because you always look like an idiot so know one can tell."

Before I can register what's happening, Aiden rapidly diverts Spencer's attention away from my mother and onto himself. Christine departs to break up Kyla and Ben while Aiden flashes a charming, friendly but romantically mysterious smile and begins to tell her about himself without forgetting to learn about Spencer too. Bewildered, I make a desperate attempt to regain Spencer's notice with a flurry of coughs.

"Having a seizure, Ash?" Aiden sneers. He makes it sound like a perfectly innocent jest. Crossing his eyes, sticking out is tongue, and flailing his arms, he crudely imitates a seizure.

"Ugh-uh," he moans. Then, he collapses on the ground and lies there twitching and convulsing.

And Spencer? Spencer_ laughs_.

An icebox must have replaced my heart because my blood ran cold.

I dart to the shadow of the staircase. Sitting in between the first and second floor, I cry. I hate Aiden. I wish aliens would abduct him. I hope he gets into a horrible car accident. I wish he would die.

By the time commotion dies, and Spencer's brother picks her up, I'm hiding in the attic, buried under covers. Talise walks in.

"Are you hiding under there? What's wrong, Ashley?" I don't respond. The covers are whisked off, and Talise stands there, towering over me. "Is this about, Aiden? It'll be okay. You haven't let him get to you like this in years though. What is it this time?" Her gray eyes run over my face, hunting for the answer.

"I don't know." I really don't know. Aiden always loves a joke at my expense. Something about Spencer laughing though just pushed me over.

"Well, Spencer told me to tell you good-bye. She looked disappointed that you weren't there."

"Really?"

Frown lines crease her eyebrows and forehead. "Yes," she answers carefully. I drop my gaze from her face and ponder that. Does it make me happy?

I can feel Talise still studying me, dissecting my emotions as best she can. If I glance up again she'll probably have arms folded across her chest.

Randomly, without any sort of preamble, she declares, "Love is agony caramelized in sweetness, like sugar-coated candy that rots your teeth."

"What?"

"Go Fish?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want to play Go Fish? You know, the card game?"


	4. The InLaws

**I finally finished this chapter. Sorry, I haven't updated recently. Between being too inconveniently sick; too absurdly busy; and too damn lazy to write anything, this took a while. It's a pretty long chapter at least.**

**Two things:**

**1. Ashley's "plan" (you'll know it when you see it) comes from something I saw on the news a long time ago about how some lady fought off an intruder**

**2. Have you heard of Westboro Baptist Church? They're the wackos I'm talking about towards the end of the chapter. I suggest you see the interview their attorney did with Chris Wallace. I suppose Voltaire was right when he said "I do not agree with a word you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." Still, some people...**

**Anyways, read on.**

The In-Laws

Spencer hasn't come back to our house for the last couple of weeks. She and Kyla have been working on a project together, but she has insisted that all outside work be done at the Carlin residence. I think she's trying to avoid Waldo, Aiden, and Ben, but I wonder if maybe I said something I shouldn't have. What if I bored her two death the other night, and she just doesn't want to deal with me anymore?

For the first time, I actually listen to Kyla talk about her crush, hoping to learn anything about her. She likes Cookies 'n Cream ice cream; her favorite color is purple; she wishes the leaves would change color in autumn; why doesn't anyone care about the fate of Lonesome George the tortoise? (Having no idea what Lonesome George is and Kyla being too... outrageous to understand, I was forced ask Talise, who directed me to one of her many, many books. Apparently, Lonesome George is the last surviving member of his particular subspecies of Galapagos Island Tortoise.)

At school, the vultures are no longer as vicious as they are in the beginning of the year and leave me alone during lunch. As usual, a couple of people invite me to sit with them, and as usual, I decline. The thing is, all these people offer out of pity and have nothing in common with me. If I accept, I'll sit there awkwardly for a few days and spend the rest of the year trying to avoid them. There's nothing to gain from listening to a bunch of kids complain while eating lunch. I always feel like a tick. It's more convenient to eat alone.

One day, as I walk through the living room, I hear Kyla half-crying as she tells our mother something.

"-and her mother is horrible. There was something on the news about a kid's suicide because they bullied him for being gay, and she just said that he got what was coming to him." I pick up my pace and scamper into the kitchen before either of the two notice me, but not before hearing, "If her mother's like this, what will Spencer think if she finds out I like her." The last statement confuses me because I already told Spencer that Kyla is bisexual. Is she just pretending she doesn't know, or was I somehow unclear?

Intrigued, I wait near the living room door to hear more.

"Most people have stereotypes about things they have no experience with," Christine soothes. "Chances are she'll learn to accept it if she really meets someone who's gay and gets to know them."

"But she won't associate with anyone who is gay. How do I tell Spencer that I'm gay, let alone that I like her? What if she's like her mother?"

"What did Spencer say about the kid's suicide?"

"She didn't say anything."

"Well," Christine ponders, "what about this? Let's invite the Carlins over for dinner, and I'll mention something casually about your sexuality and see how they take it."

"Really? You'd do that for me?" Kyla's voice is full of adoration.

"I'd do anything for you, sweetie," my mother croons. Gagging a little, I leave them to their mother-daughter moment.

* * *

Soon, it's Friday evening. Spencer and her family are coming for dinner. My mother is reassuring everyone that everything will be fine and insisting that we all calm down. She, of course, is busy picking out the wine while the rest of the house scrambles around, making sure everything is perfect.

If it's not perfect, we'll be hearing about it for the rest of the month.

Joe is organizing the living room. In other words, he's shoving his papers into a box and throwing out his beer cans. None of which should take over an hour to do, but he's probably got the TV on so we can't expect too much usefulness from him.

"No, Ben!" Kyla shrieks. "Spencer hates Pepsi. Put that away!"

"It's just my Pepsi. Get a grip, Kyla."

"Are you implying..." With the ease of far too much practice, I tune out the bickering twins and focus on table setting.

"Ashley," my mother reprimands coolly, a bottle of wine in each hand. What now? "Those glasses should be turned upside down so dust doesn't settle in them." Biting back a wave of bitterness, I start flipping them. "And make sure the forks are on the right." I put the forks on the right with exaggerated deliberation. "Also those placemats don't match the tablecloths. Switch them out for the red ones."

"You handed me those placemats right before you went downstairs," I say rigidly.

"Well, I didn't know that we had this tablecloth on. Don't be difficult. It's just the placemats. It's not like you have to walk ten miles." Having imparted her sage advice, Christine finally turns to leave. "And Ashley," I stare blankly at her. "Some of those plates seem chipped. Use the new set."

Somehow, I manage not to scream.

* * *

When the doorbell rings, Kyla and Ben shoot up out of nowhere and race for the door. Christine follows sedately, emanating regal elegance. Aiden runs his fingers through his hair and is nearly trampled over by Waldo who smells like— shaving cream? Talise gives the sigh of the damned. Joe realizes that he has to shower and plods as quickly as he can upstairs.

I have no idea what to do. Does one night make us friends for life? How am I supposed to greet her? By the time I shuffle into the foyer, the Carlins are all inside and while almost everyone is wearing their it's-nice-to-meet-you smiles, Talise is scowling. I follow her glare to a blond boy.

In fact, _the_ blond boy. The lotion blond boy.

Who happens to be Spencer's brother Glen Carlin.

Fantastic.

"We'll all have such a wonderful evening together," my mother assures us.

Spencer spots me before I can mutter something along the lines of "yeah right" under my breath. I smile, and she waves. Out of nowhere, Kyla's all over her and trying to take everybody's coat. Ben looks ridiculous trying to help people take off their shoes. Meanwhile, Aiden calmly approaches Mr. and Mrs. Carlin and respectfully shakes their hands.

"Let's all move to the dining room, shall we?" Christine suggests.

Kyla basically drags Spencer into the dining room.

"I have to use the bathroom," Spencer half-shouts and darts off to safety.

In the meantime, Kyla and Ben begin running around the dining room, trying to block any chance of Spencer sitting with the other person while shoving the rest of us out of the chairs we are about to sit in.

"Kyla, Benjamin!" Christine chides in her stern mother voice. "Please allow the Carlins to take their seats and stop galloping around."

Demurely, the two take their seats opposite each other, next to Christine and Joe. There's no way I'm going to sit near Kyla and Ben tonight. They'll spend the entire night kicking each other (and anyone else caught in the crossfire) underneath the table.

Talise seems distracted, forehead creased and jaw set, so I jab her with my elbow and lift my eyebrows. _Well, what are you waiting for?_

Startled out of thought, she blinks a few times before realizing the situation._ Are you going to sit down or what? _She gestures toward the chair next to Kyla.

I nod emphatically at the seat. _You're closer to it. Sit down already._

Christine coughs meaningfully. With a sigh and a eye roll, Talise plops down next to Kyla who chooses that moment to screech at Ben and right into Talise's ear. Talise springs up like a jack-in-the-box.

_I hate you. _She glares at me.

I grin back. _I'm aware._

Spencer chooses that moment to sit down in the empty chair next to me. Before, I can even say hi, Aiden (sitting across from me) is asking her about her day. The dinner passes quickly. I keep my head down and eat. Conversation buzzes around me, and Talise continually hisses under her breath.

"How were your classes, Aid?" Joe asks his son.

"Pretty good. One guy walked into the wrong classroom today. It was hilarious."

"How about you, Talise?"

"Fine," she replies without looking up.

"Did anything interesting happen?"

"Not really." She lies. I'm pretty sure that having a professor spontaneously vomit during an exam counts as interesting.

"Did you do anything?"

"I went to class, came back wrote a rough draft to an essay, and got ready for dinner."

"So, nothing happened?"

Talise finally looks at him. "Seriously, if anything happened don't you think I would have told you by now?"

"I just wanted to make sure," Joe says a little defensively. To my surprise, he might actually be hurt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Spencer watching the two interact with curiosity.

* * *

After dinner, the parents sit in the living room drinking wine, while the rest of us are on the deck, by the pool. It's a little late for swimming so we all just hang around. Kyla and Ben assault Spencer with questions, and soon, I'm bored. I meander back inside for some water.

"Hey, what's-your-name, where's the bathroom?" It's Glen Carlin. I ignore him. "Come on, I'm just asking you a question." This guy has really thick skin. "Can you even talk?" I just wait for the water to fill up in my cup which irritates him. "I'm talking to you!" he snaps. Next thing I know, he's basically crushing my arm. He must be one of those people who just can't stand being ignored. No wonder he gets along so well with Madison. "Where's the fucking bathroom?" he shouts in my face. "Are-"

"The bathroom is down the hall on your right though I'd prefer you don't fuck in it since Aiden has already left his mark rather indelibly on the vanity." Talise informs him.

"I wasn't asking you," he retorts.

"Your point is..."

"Shut up and mind your own business."

"I don't feel like it."

"Whatever," he says, throwing up his hands. "I could care less."

"The phrase is 'I couldn't care less.'"

"Whatever," he says again, storming off.

"Sentence variety," Talise calls after him. Her eyes narrow and her brows darken in thought.

"That was pleasant," I remark.

"What was?" Talise and I turn to see Spencer coming in from the deck.

"Your brother... is not," Talise tells her.

"What did he do now?" She asks, sounding exasperated.

Talise and I don't say anything.

Unsure what to make of our silence, Spencer lets it go. "What's new, Ashley?"

"Not much." We lapse into another silence. Valiantly, I find something to say. "Do you want to go back on the deck?"

"Umm... no?" She makes a face. "I just escaped from the... people that are out there."

"Well, we can go upstairs if you want."

"Anywhere, but out there," she says, relieved. I glance at Talise.

"I'm going to grab my book from outside. I might be up later though." With that, she departs.

"So, are you going to whisk me up to that space station you call a room or what?" Spencer tilts her head which tugs a smile onto my lips.

"Of course."

"Well then," she puts out her hand for me to take, "whisk away." Grinning almost idiotically, I grasp her fingers and pull her with me. By the time we enter the hallway, we're both giggling for no reason. Suddenly, Glen bursts out of the living room, his face bright rash red. He sprints for the deck, pushing roughly past us. "What the heck are you doing, Glen?" Spencer lets go of my hand to follow him.

We arrive at the deck in time to hear Glen screaming shrilly and pushing Talise into the water. When he jumps in after her, Aiden leaps to his feet. "What the fuck, dude?"

Kyla shrieks as the splashing water hits her hair.

"Glen!" Spencer yells. As far as I can tell he's trying to drown her or something. I start running towards the pool. I have to do _something_.

What exactly am I going to do?

Wildly, I look around for a weapon of some sort. Aiden dives into the water, and Kyla screams as even more water comes down on us. All his time in the gym counts for nothing. The water sucks the power out of Aiden's attack. While Talise is under him, Glen holds the best cards. Agitated and terrified, I jump in too. My eyes burn from the chlorine, but I keep them open long enough to find Glen's hands. Frantically, I scrabble at his fingers and try to pry them off. Something rocks the water and Spencer is there stabbing at him with a fork. It would have been a great idea if the fork wasn't plastic.

Between the exertion and fear, I need air badly. When my head starts to pound, I kick back towards the surface. Gasping, I'm struck by a horrible idea. It almost certainly would work, but... really? Desperate times call for desperate measures. Diving beneath the surface, I affix myself on his pants and undo the button. Thank god he's wearing boxers. I reach in and twist, squeeze, yank, and anything that might cause pain to his uh —part.

It works.

He screams and releases his hold on Talise. One of his hands grabs the edge of the pool, and he hangs there floating and cross-eyed. Aiden pulls Talise to the other side out of the water. He spent all summer getting certified as a life guard, and I've never been more appreciative of one of his girl-attracting schemes. By the time I stumble over there, Talise is breathing and blinking weakly.

"What the hell did you do to the guy?" Aiden asks his twin.

"I told him that the bathroom was in the living room," Talise pants. I didn't even notice her doing that, and I was right there. "Guess he really needed to use the bathroom or something." Aiden and I share a rare moment of camaraderie before breaking down into hysterical laughter. The idea of Glen walking into our carefully furnished living room, pulling his pants down in front of our parents has us more out of breath than the water.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Kyla flaps over to us followed by Ben and Waldo.

From the other side of the pool, I hear Spencer berating at her brother. "What the heck were you doing, Glen?"

"Leave me alone," he snarls, trying to put his pants on.

"For Pete's sakes, you can't keep doing this, or I swear I'll tell Mom and Dad. Are you doing this because of Clay? Just because Clay died, and you're still not over it doesn't mean that you can go around trying to kill people." My ears perk up. Who's Clay?

"It's none of your business why I do what I do."

"YOU NEARLY KILLED SOMEONE, Glen," suddenly, I'm not the only one listening in on the conversation. "Don't you get it? This isn't just your problem anymore if other people are going to get hurt too." Her voice begins to crack. "What happened to you?"

We all make our way over to the Carlins. Spencer looks up at us. At this distance it's clear that some of the wetness on her face isn't from pool water. When Kyla tries to ask what's wrong, she runs away.

After a moment's hesitation, I run after her.

* * *

Passing by the bathroom, I have enough common sense to take a towel. Somehow, I find her in a room that barely recognize as part of our house. There are rooms in this house that I've probably never set foot in, and I think only part of that has to do with size of the house itself. Spencer is curled up on the cushioned window seat almost completely hidden by curtains. Her body quivers with sobs. Apprehensively, I reach out for her, but she brushes my hand away.

"Spencer..." I whisper. Reddened eyes graze mine for a moment before dropping back down. She tries to wipe them dry, but tears keep falling. An emptiness in my arms prompts me to wrap her up in them. Her tears soak my shirt which hardly matters since it's already wet. I sit on a cushioned window seat with Spencer Carlin pressed against me. My breath changes automatically to match her wrenching ones. Finally, she stops crying enough to shake herself free of me a little, though she's still leaning against me.

"I'm sorry about Glen and everything. Our entire family's been so messed up lately."

"My family is always messed up." I snort. "Your worst day is probably pretty good for us."

"I really doubt that."

"You really shouldn't."

"Oh, come on. No one in your family goes around drowning people. The worst thing that I can see is that Talise detests your father-"

I correct her. "_Her_ father. Joe is my stepfather, and Talise doesn't hate him."

"Yeah right. She was essentially frying him with her eyes."

"Long day?" I offer.

Even so, Talise has been a little out of character today. They might not be best buddies, but she never just blows him off like that. Then, later with Glen. She hates conflict of any kind and usually just lets stuff go. My policy of silence comes from her. "Besides," I continue, shoving aside the puzzle for the moment, "you're just supporting the fact that my family is more dysfunctional than yours."

"Fine, prove it." With that challenge ringing in my ears, I embark on a story that I suspect Kyla, Ben and Waldo don't even fully understand. Here I am, telling a girl I've met only once before exactly why family is a glorified sham for me, who my father is, and why I'm already nineteen but still in my junior year. It's the blandest version that I can manage. I don't want her to think I'm complaining, so I stick to the bare facts. Still, lots of other information gets thrown in the mix.

"-which is why Talise and I are close, but I stay out of the others' way," I conclude. Then, I think of something. "Oh, and Joe probably was trying to talk Talise into med school again, so that's probably why she's irritated with him today.

"Wow. Way to overload on the information," she tells me wryly. Automatically, I tense up.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Hey," she interrupts me gently and grabs my hand, "I'm just joking. I'm really glad that you trust me enough to tell me about all that." Relaxing, I smile. It feels weird, but she smiles back, and my lips twitch wider at the sight. A commotion from somewhere else in the house jolts us into a full sitting position. Someone must be shattering the windows if we can hear it from this crazy, out-of-the-way room.

"Should we find out what's happening?" I ask.

"If we have to."

She shifts, but snuggles closer to me instead of getting up. Too comfortable to pry now, I yawn and stretch before sinking deeper into the cushion. Another particularly loud eruption of noise causes Spencer to sit up.

"Sounds like my mother," she says warily. 'Let's see what's wrong."

We pad silently down shadowy hallways, vague screeching guiding us back.

It's chaos at the main part of the house. Spencer's mother resembles an ax murderer, and her father is hopelessly bewildered. Off to the side, Kyla is crying while Christine has her good (albeit slightly put out) hostess face on to the last and is trying to smooth things over. Joe indignantly huffs at the pandemonium and convinces himself that he looks authoritative with his arms folded across his chest. Glen and Talise are having an argument. With faintly more success than my mother, Aiden tries to stop the situation from deteriorating further. Waldo watches anxiously from the corner, and Ben does his best to appear suave and unconcerned.

"What's going on here?" Spencer demands.

Mrs. Carlin whips her head around and spots Spencer. "We are leaving right now," she declares righteously. What?

"What?" Spencer echoes my thought.

"You heard me. We're leaving. And why in the world are you so wet?" She narrows her eyes at me, as though I'm trying to give her daughter pneumonia. Then, she notices Glen. "And you, too Glen?"

"We were in the pool," Glen answers quickly.

No one contradicts him.

"Well, we-" Paula starts.

"Now, Paula," Spencer's father interjects soothingly, "are you sure that-"

"Of course I'm sure, Arthur! There is no way we are staying another moment in a house with a- a-homosexual who may be interested in my daughter." At that moment, I remember the reason behind this visit in the first place. Oh, Kyla. Paula grabs Spencer's arm. "Let's go-"

"You know how teenagers are. Sometimes it's better to just let them be." Typical Christine won't even defend her daughter if it means she might not remain popular and liked by everyone.

"Let them be? Let them _be_?" Paula shouts, enraged. "Your disgusting daughter is sinking into the depths of depravity and will probably end up roasting in hell, and your response is to let her _be_?"

"The bible _does _say..." and now Christine is going to betray Kyla and trample on her heart so that this lady won't make a scene in front of the neighbor or complain to the media or- or whatever else Christine's afraid of. It makes my blood boil, and I _can't _let Christine do that.

"The bi- bible is wrong," I tell them flatly, pretending I didn't stutter, and the entire hollering room swivels around to stare at me incredulously. Perhaps as much in shock of my mouth opening as much as of what I said.

"How dare you." Paula finally breaks the silence and stalks toward me. Her eyes seethe and she looks like she kind of wants to throttle me. Being more intelligent than your average housefly, I retreat several steps. "Who do you think you are? Are you one of misguided hippies who thinks that we can just accept homosexuality in our community without consequences?"

I'm beginning to wonder if Paula is one of those wackos who were protesting at soldiers' funerals. Nevertheless, I press on.

"You don't have the right to say a group of people is evil just like that. They haven't hurt anyone. How would you feel if you were gay-".

Crack!

My head snaps to the side, and my left cheek burns. Apparently, suggesting that Paula Carlin might hypothetically be gay was taking it too far.

"Mom! What the hell are you doing?" Spencer yells, jerking her mother back. "Has this whole family gone insane?" She looks at us, the Davies/Woods/Dennison family, for a response. Our wide-eyed and fearful stares answer with a resounding "yes".

"Don't swear, Spencer. We're leaving _now_." Evidently, she means it this time because she's dragging Spencer out the door with her. Spencer shoots me what I hope is an apologetic look as she's pulled out of the house. Glen and his father give little coughs and scurry after them. Almost immediately after the door closes, my mother turns on me.

"There is no reason to talk to a guest like that Ashl-"

"Don't," Talise interrupts curtly, proving that whatever mood she's in hasn't worn off yet.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't give Ashley a hard time for being the only member of this family with any guts."

Stunned by at Talise's rare case of raw hostility, Christine doesn't say anything more, and the dazed family dissolves into our separate lives again.

* * *

Tucked away in the attic, I tug on a T-shirt. On her bed, Talise has a book open, but her eyes don't travel swiftly across the page like they usually do.

"What exactly happened after me and Spencer disappeared?"

Talise looks up from where she'd been pretending to read her book.

"Spencer and _I_," Talise informs me. Rolling my eyes, I wait for her response. "Her mother came bursting outside and demanding that they leave. She nearly strangled Kyla —guess Glen's not the only Carlin with homicidal tendencies— and since we couldn't find you guys, she started storming around the house and tearing stuff up."

"Where's that crazy church?"

"What crazy church?"

"The one that went to all the funerals."

"The really annoying one with all the picket signs? Midwest, I think. Why?"

"Maybe it was Ohio."

Talise snickers. "It wouldn't be surprising." We share grin. "While we're filling each other in, what happened in the water earlier" Aiden said he didn't do much."

I shudder slightly. "You don't want to know."

Studying my no doubt puke-green face for a moment, she says, "I'll take your word for it."

"Is Joe giving you a hard time or something about med school or something because you seemed kind of off today?" I blurt out. I'd been meaning to ask for a while, but wasn't sure how to broach the topic.

"No, I was just feeling a little more disillusioned than usual." Her eyes return to watching the book.

Making a face, although nobody can see it, I work this through. "Well, shouldn't that be a good thing? It means you're seeing the real thing and not just a trick."

"Usually the 'illusion' in disillusionment is something that one wants to be true. It suggests a loss of innocence, naïveté, or faith in a valued belief." With her careful tones, she sounds like a textbook, and her eyes never wander from the page.

"Oh," I reply, not understanding at all. Wouldn't you want to know the truth? Then at least, you could deal with the problem. "So, are you feeling better now?"

"Yes," a pause, "not all discoveries were quite so dismaying."


	5. First Blood

**Given that I'm finally not that busy, this took a preposterously long time to write, so I'm apologizing. It's not nearly as action-packed as the last chapter, although important information is still imparted.**

**Read.**

First Blood

After our, ahem— incident, Spencer's mother apparently pulled her out of Eckhardt's Academy. Kyla was distraught, Ben was disappointed, Aiden was disheartened, Waldo was disconsolate, and I was distressed. (Talise, I suppose, was still disillusioned, but that is beside the point.) I had hoped we'd be friends, but I have no idea how to contact her. The only connection I had with her was the fact that she went to Eckhardt's, and now, for all I knew, she had disappeared from the face of the planet.

Despite my gloomy thoughts, Talise seems to have gotten over whatever had been bothering her before. For the most part, she is back to normal, although she still gives Joe short shrift and has been downright frosty to Christine. At home, things were tense for a while, but they've gotten back to usual. Just when I think the world will move on without another trace of Spencer Carlin—

"Hey, Ashley,"

—she plops into the seat next to me at lunch. "Oh god, I'm sorry!" Her next move is to whack my back in an attempt (failed) to help me cough up a chunk of a sandwich that lodged in my throat when she appeared out of nowhere. At last, a little ball of half-chewed food falls onto my napkin. Gasping and a little embarrassed, I stare at her.

"Um... hi?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

Silence. During which I examine her school-made chicken burger for signs of mold. Just in case.

As it drags on, I grit my teeth in frustration. Why can't we start a conversation without being so painfully awkward? Every single time we meet, it feels like I have to force us into a conversation.

"Why are you at King? What happened after the other night? And," looking at her T-shirt, "what _is_ that?" I erupt.

Glancing down, she answers the last question first. "_That_ is an Angora rabbit."

"_That's_ a rabbit?" Peering closer, I see what might be a rabbit face in what looks like a mound of fluff. I thought I already saw the world's strangest animals when Talise went through her Animal Planet phase that I, invariably, got sucked into.

"Yep."

She doesn't say anything else, so I prod her some more, "Why are you here?" Her back stiffens before she replies.

"Well, my mother deemed it prudent that my education be relocated to somewhere away from Kyla immediately." What? Who talks like that? Talise does— wait, let me revise that. Who talks like that and is sane?

Ignoring the sudden turn for the nuthouse, I manufacture more conversation. "Do you like it here?"

"It's... um- well," she sputters. Seeing that she's at a loss for words or something, I decide to pull out my best conversational skills, which isn't much.

"The water's yellow," I tell her sincerely. She turns faintly green. "But I'm sure it's safe," I rush to reassure her. "I wouldn't drink it or anyth—"

"She's not always like that, you know—I mean," (What does this have to do with the water?) "—my mother." (Um, okay.)

"Um, okay," What else am I supposed to say?

"She's a really nice person deep down, but she has her faults like anybody. There are just some things she just doesn't get," Spencer informs me earnestly. I remember the previous night when she had basically attacked me and decide that I never want to be something Paula Carlin "just doesn't get".

"I'm sure she's great." I manage, lying spectacularly.

Spencer regards me skeptically, but doesn't comment further.

"Hey, Spencer," we turn toward the call. "What are you doing over here?" Glen jogs up to us. "Why don't you come sit with us?" He gestures toward where the vultures are sitting.

"Yeah, it'll be fun, come on," Madison and the rest of her flock swoop in, practically stepping on me as they crowd around Spencer.

Sherry hops onto the table (because I need a view of her butt while I eat) and leans over my food. "I heard you were head cheerleader back in Ohio. You should try out for the squad next year." Madison and Sherry won't be here next year (thank god) so they don't have to worry about any competition Spencer might cause.

Chattering wildly, the flock descends on Spencer, testing her for weaknesses and deciding what kind of addition she might be to their group. Staying part of their flock is a constant battle to stay in Madison's favor. The only person who's lasted more than a year is Sherry. They're all hoping that a new member might be easy to shove the blame on. Also, they're looking for followers because the most popular person stands the best chance of taking Madison's place next year.

"Come on, sit with us," they whine.

"Alright," Spencer caves, looking slightly overwhelmed. "Are you coming, Ash?" My eyes jerk up from where they were glumly considering the pattern of food crusted on the cafeteria table.

"Huh?" Bewildered, my tongue freezes. Go to the table with Spencer? I want to, but that would be the stupidest thing I've ever done. One glance at the vultures secures my answer. "No."

Between the glares and the throat-slitting hand gestures, I'm guessing that my company wouldn't go down well.

"Why not?" she asks, tilting her head.

"I like it here," I notify her. It's true. Me and this table (this table and I, just for Talise) have had a long, healthy relationship for the last few years. Some people have nationalism, I have table-ism. To abandon it would be base betrayal— a direct contradiction to the values and belief our lunchtime is founded on.

Plus, I'd rather not get picked to pieces by vultures, especially if Spencer is watching.

"Are you sure?" Spencer looks around, as though noticing the lack of anybody else in the vicinity for the first time. "Nobody will mind."

Uh—no, Spencer, everybody will mind.

"I'm good here." I insist.

"Okay..." she says reluctantly, while I count the number of pores in my bread.

"Come _on_," one of the vultures (is that all they've been taught to say?) bleats, dragging her away.

* * *

Odes could be written about the school bell. Instead of the Liberty Bell, we should have the school bell. It's a much better symbol of freedom. If that were the case, Sherry might not be failing history (although I'm barely scraping by, so I'll keep that to myself). Today, the joy the bell brings is bolstered by—

"Hey Ashley," —you guessed it: Spencer.

"Hi," I smile, thankful that I don't have any food in my mouth this time around.

"So, how was your day?" She seems really chipper right now, and I get caught along in her good mood.

"Decent," I reply. It was actually quite horrible, and involved a rather annoying game of basketball in gym, but I'm entertaining the notion that it could still turn out okay. "How'd yours go?"

"Great! It turns out that my—" I nod as she tells me all about her amazing art teacher. I've had Ms. Gerdine before, and the only thing I learned was how angry she gets when you spill paint. Nevertheless, Spencer is absolutely enamored with her, and keeps babbling on about her until we get outside.

Searching for either Talise, Aiden or even Joe in the crowd, I turn around several times, trying not to be swallowed up by the commotion. Ever since the first day, it felt safer just to get a ride.

"Ashl—. Hi, Spencer." Standing in the middle of the parking lot, leaning on his Nissan, hands in his jean pockets, face shifting from bored to engaging, is Aiden. As always, he's perfectly composed and disgustingly charming.

"Oh, hi." To my elation, she doesn't seem nearly as excited to see him as he does her. "Look, I'm sorry about the other night. That—"

"It's okay. Everyone's family is crazy," he shrugs with a smile. "Nobody's perfect, right?" I wish his mouth would disappear. His teeth are blinding me.

"Yeah, look, I didn't mean—" Spencer starts again, anxious to make sure things are alright.

"Hey, I get it, alright?" He assures her warmly. "Every family has its kinks" I don't know what sickens me more: Aiden's flawless friendliness or Spencer's relieved expression.

"Thanks," she says, her lips tugging upwards a little.

"Anyways, I was wondering if you want to go see a movie sometime... Saturday maybe?" Her face works as though she's trying to do long division in her head.

"Well,..."

"If you come with me," his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll even buy skittles."

"Fine," she laughs. There goes any chance of having a good day.

"'Fine'? God, you make it sound like I'm torturing you or something."

Shaking her head but still grinning, she drawls deliberately, "_Fine._ I'll be delighted to go with you. We'll have such a wonderful time.

"Great, see you then. I'll get your number from Kyla." White-toothed smile firmly in place he walks back inside his car.

"Bye," I tell a beaming Spencer before climbing in.

On the way home, I remind myself that killing Aiden while he's driving isn't conducive to my own survival.


	6. I Hurt, Therefore I Love

**I finished this yesterday and revised it today, so with any luck it's all set. This is mostly just family drama, but it gets Ashley thinking.**

I Hurt, Therefore I Love

My pillows go flying off of my bed. Furiously, I destroy my bed coverings. Sheets float through the air or sag on the mattress which is half on the floor while my comforter huddles in a corner. By the time Talise enters the attic, it looks like a rhinoceros trampled my bed.

Pretending not to notice the chaos, Talise drops onto her bed. "I'm assuming you're day went the exact opposite of Aiden's."

"Aiden's a jerk."

"He's looking rather pleased with himself. What did he do now?"

"He asked Spencer out on a date," I explode. Talise looks at me strangely.

"Well, that's probably why he's doing a victory dance in the living room."

"What gives him the right to do that? Seriously, why would he think Spencer would even accept?"

"Judging by his smug grin, I'll presume that Spencer _did_—," Talise stops and frowns. "Wait, how did Aiden find her anyways? And why do you know about this? I was pretty sure she disappeared off the face of the Earth after the other night."

"Apparently, Spencer's mother moved her to King High, and Aiden saw her when he was picking me up," I expound. Offended by the meekness to my comforter, I stalk over to it.

"Ah, that would explain it." Silently, I fume some more, and throw my comforter back on the bed. Why the hell does Aiden have to ask her out. Can't he just leave her alone? Would it be impossible for him not hit on every girl he sees? I kick my pillow to the other side of the room. "Maybe you should sign up for soccer," Talise remarks sardonically when the pillow lands on top of her.

"Sorry."

Reverting back to our original conversation, she continues, "Isn't it a good thing that Spencer's going to King High though? I thought you liked her."

"I do, but I really hate Aiden." Full of pent up aggression, I flop onto the mattress. Nothing I pummel is hard enough to produce a satisfying thwack.

"Aiden doesn't go to King," she points out.

"Yeah, but now he wants to date her."

"What's the big deal?" she asks, suddenly almost accusatory. "Why are you so upset? It's not like Aiden hasn't dated anyone before."

"I don't know." I snarl, frustrated. "I like Spencer, okay? I think Aiden's an idiot, and he doesn't deserve her."

"And when you say you like Spencer, what do you mean by that?"

"What am I supposed to mean by that?" I snap. "She's nice, and she actually wants to talk to me. Is that too much to ask for?" Angrily I rip the one remaining sheet of my mattress. I don't want to talk anymore. If I do, things that I never admit to anyone will spill out, like wishing for friends or for my Dad to be home more often.

I don't want to be that person who complains all the time about their life, and then rejects help from everyone because they think it's patronizing. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to be that annoying character in a book that makes you want to shout: "Life sucks, get over it", and throw the book against the wall.

It would be so much easier though.

Moaning, I thread my fingers through my hair and bury my face in my mattress. Ostriches have the right idea.

"Ashley," Talise starts.

"What?" I bark, cornered and agitated.

"Do you have a crush on Spencer Carlin or something?"

"What?" Blindsided, I swivel to stare at her. "Of course not! It's not like I love her!" What the hell?

Talise shrugs, but her eyes still burn into me like lasers. "You seem kind of jealous. And did I even ask if you love her?"

"So what, if I'm jealous? Maybe I'm just sick of being everyone's second-choice," I half-admit.

"Or maybe you like her," I open my mouth to protest, but Talise bulldozes over me. "Besides, it doesn't seem like you're Spencer's second-choice. Last time, she was the one looking for you, remember?"

Falling silent, I mull over that for a few moments. At lunch today, she looked for me too. So did that mean Spencer preferred my company to Aiden's? And was Talise really going insane? I don't love Spencer—

"You might want to start your homework," Talise reminds me while pulling her own textbooks out.

—right?

With a sigh, I glance at my backpack and then at my ruined bed. Anything to avoid _To Kill A Mockingbird_.

I try to figure out where I threw my sheets.

* * *

During dinner, Aiden is almost unbearable. When we first sit down, he's practically bursting. Stupid grin carved into his face, he basically struts into the dining room. After sitting down, he looks at all of us as though expecting applause. As usual, my mother begins her "how was your day" routine, this time starting with Kyla.

"Kyla, how was y—,"

"I'm going on a date with Spencer Carlin this weekend!" Aiden shouts.

Stunned, Christine blinks a few times. "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't quite catch th—,"

"What?" Kyla leaps to her feet, eyes bulging.

"I have a date with Spencer—"

"You jackass," Kyla screams, pointing her finger at him dramatically. "How dare you? You knew I liked her—"

And it all goes downhill from there.

Waldo looks heartbroken and ready to cry, Ben is obviously scheming ways to steal his brother's date, and Kyla is ready to throttle her half-brother. Aiden tries to put on an innocent expression, but that doesn't stop Kyla from throwing a plate full of mashed potatoes into his face. Alarmed, Christine and Joe shush everyone in vain. Assessing the rapidly deteriorating situation, I look to Talise, and we make a decision: we dive into our food and start shoveling stuff down, unsure how much longer there's going to be food left on the table.

"Look, Kyla, I really like—" Aiden tries to placate her.

"Bullshit!"

"Language, Kyla!" Christine reprimands. Kyla ignores her. I reach for a roll.

"You're just trying to hurt me," she spits.

"Why the heck would I do that?" Aiden protests, "I have no reason to hurt you. I honestly—"

"Hey, quiet down," Joe interjects, attempting to end the conversation entirely.

"He's a jackass. He knows I like her, and he's going after her anyways," Kyla plows on. Joe turns a sulky bright purple.

"Enough!" he shouts, slamming his hand on the table. 'You two work this out for yourselves, in the meantime I'm out of here." He storms away, and I guess that's supposed to show us something, although I'm not sure what (but hey, more ribs for me).

Despite their father's dramatic exit, Kyla and Aiden are still going at it, and now Waldo is even tentatively adding to the clamor. Christine glares at the door Joe just left through before trying to referee the upcoming rugby match.

"Should we go?" Talise whispers.

"Yeah." Without further ado, we slink out of there. Well, more like walk loudly. No one can hear us either way.

* * *

"So, did you have Spencer in any of your classes?" Talise asks after a heavy silence. The silence is only between us. We've been lying on our respective beds, listening to the turmoil downstairs. Most of it gets lost in the voids of our house, but occasional words and a constant buzzing find their way up. By now it's obvious that my mother is furious at Joe for walking out at dinner, saying that it's his responsibility as a parent to see this through.

Talise mutters something when Joe bellows, "I just don't want to deal with this," and shrugs off any family responsibility as usual. The sound of people stomping up and down the stairs and enraged, shrill shrieks harmonize so nicely, don't they? It's the Dennison family at their best, and somehow I'm part of it.

"Spencer's in my lunch block, but that's it."

"That's too bad. Did you get to talk to her?" For a moment, Talise sounded almost exactly like Joe. "That's too bad" is something he says a lot. Usually, he's trying hard to sound nice and sympathetic, but it always sounds fake to me. With Talise, I can't tell whether it's real or not, so I just answer the question.

"She sat down next to me for a bit, but her brother and Madison came up to get her to sit with them." Talise says nothing. Uncertain about whether I want to keep talking about Spencer given our last conversation, I decide to rant about something we can at least agree on. Maybe it will convince Talise that she has it wrong. "She said her mother was a really nice person deep down of something like that. I mean, isn't that kind of deluded? Then Aiden, afterwards, was all perfect gentleman about it. He just lied to get Spencer to like him more. I don't get it. How can someone say their family is crazy but always make excuses for them?"

"Ashley, if you had gone back to the 1940's or maybe even now, I bet there is someone out there who would proclaim to the world that _Hitler_ was a really nice guy deep down, and he would be telling the truth. Everyone is. It all depends on how you define "deep down". She looks over at me, and I realized that I've stupidly tapped into a Talise Dennison geyser of suppressed opinions and there's no stopping the onslaught now.

"That guy would be an idiot." I state as firmly as possible, wanting to end this conversation before things get into something like a debate on whether religion is morally wrong— with Talise arguing both sides of course.

"Not necessarily. People are complicated, and I don't think you can label them as good or bad. All the bad stuff someone does doesn't negate their good or vice versa. It's like convicting a serial killer if he's really lost his mind.

Pausing for breath, she seems to re-orients herself. "There's all this stuff out there about being true to yourself. Generally, they have this notion that your true self is perfect, kind and confident. But can everyone in the world actually be like that? Wouldn't all our true selves be almost exactly the same? What's the point of having a self if it's identical to everyone else's? I doubt that people have a single true self.

"Everyone wants to love someone unconditionally, but no one seems to understand what that means. If you really love someone unconditionally, you would forgive them for murdering your mother. That's what it means. Perhaps everyone is convinced that the person they love would _never_ do that, but that doesn't make it impossible."

Oh god, she's using the "perhaps" 's now. I'll never get out of here.

"In Spencer's case right now, she wants to love her mother unconditionally. Of course she'd defend her. She'll make all sorts of excuses.

I'm ending this right now. "Congratulations, Descartes. You've explained the mystery of human existence… I think. Now, I'm going to take a shower, and you, hopefully, are going to check into the asylum. Sweet dreams."

Once I'm in the shower, I relax. Hot water therapy always works. Whooshing water blocks out any stray sounds from downstairs, and I wish I could spend eternity in a hot shower. Sometimes, it feels like the only place I have to reflect on anything.

_Do you have a crush on Spencer Carlin?_

What? No! She's just the only friend I've had in a long time.

_You've never had a problem with Aiden dating before._

I've never known anyone Aiden dated before.

_Why should you care at all?_

It's weird, okay? It seems weird.

_You seem kind of jeal—_

I clamp down on my unruly thoughts and think about angry koalas for a moment. They sound like cats that are getting their claws slipped. I saw one on Animal Planet. Koalas are supposed to be cute little things from Australia, but they actually seem quite vicious. Kind of like swans. I wonder if Spencer knows. She probably does because I think she likes animals. After all, she was wearing that rabbit shirt, and didn't Kyla say something about a tortoise? Lonely James or something? What else does Spencer do? I wonder if she really wanted to talk to m—.

Turning off the knob, I hop out of the shower. So much for thinking time.

**I don't know what happened there with the whole philosophical thing. Once I started writing, I couldn't stop.**


	7. Once More, This Time With Emotion

**Hey, look! I finally updated.**

* * *

Once More, This Time With Emotion

When Spencer appears in front of me at lunch the next day, the first thing I do is check her shirt for strange animals. Nope, today it's just a purple t-shirt that I can't believe she's wearing. It's only 50 degrees out right now. Thanksgiving is next week. Why would anyone where a T-shirt in this weather? Even Madison has forsaken her campaign to reveal as much skin as possible in order to throw on a jacket. Impressed by her tolerance for cold weather, I stare at her shirt for a moment, studying the way it fits around her body before responding to her greeting.

"Hi."

"How's life?" she asks.

"Good," I reply quickly before taking another bite of my sandwich. As I chew, I study the plastic wrap that's left on the table.

Crash!

That was the elephant in the room, and apparently Spencer's deaf because she keeps babbling away.

"Hey, Ash?" _Ash?_ "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I mumble.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"How was your day?"

"Fine."

She sighs loudly. "You know, I won't go out with Aiden if you don't want me to."

I jolt up to meet her eyes for the first time.

"Huh?"

"Well," she starts, flicking a piece of hair back behind her ear, "I remember how weird it was when one of my friends was dating Glen back in Ohio. If it's awkward for you, I'll cancel our date."

"It's just that—" _I don't want you dating anyone. _"—uh, I don't want Kyla to get hurt."

"Oh, look, I'll talk to Kyla if you want—"

"No!" I realize that I don't want anyone to know that I've been talking to Spencer about this, or maybe even at all. Talise is suspicious enough already. "You should just go— on the date, I mean. Kyla might— it might be better to keep things as clean as possible."

The collar of my shirt scratches at my neck, and I rub it against my shoulder. Once I start, I can't stop. Over and over again I push my neck and shoulder together, trying to get rid of the itch at my collar.

Spencer's giving me the Look. Everyone has there own version of the Look (Talise's is weary, Aiden's contemptuous, my mother's is irritated, etc.), but they all use it whenever I'm doing something stupid, like taking off my socks at dinner because they're driving my feet crazy or clapping my hands over my ears every time someone shuts the door.

Spencer's Look is pure concern as my movements become more violent. Stifling the urge to panic, I rein in my body as best as I can. At least it wasn't a seizure. My ridiculous amount of medication is actually good for something.

"What's wrong, princess?" a voice jeers from behind me. Whose lovely voice could that be? I wonder…could it possibly be Madison? "Got a rash?" she asked nastily.

I stiffen. Several years ago, my father dropped me off at school, and Madison heard him calling me "princess". Well, you can imagine what happened after that. Next time I saw my father, I refused to let him call me "princess" anymore. Despite my father's hurt at my sudden detachment (and the fact that Madison can't remember when the United States declared independence), she still jumps on any chance to taunt me with it.

"Hello, Spencer." Where there is Madison, of course there is Sherry. "What're you doing over here?"

"Nothing much," she replies, not looking at Sherry.

"Come sit with us," Sherry pleads, smile dripping with manufactured hospitality. Doesn't this sound familiar? Agitated, I roll my shoulder against my neck again. Something sharp pokes into my back. Whirling around, I'm greeted by the sickening titters of the rest of the vulture flock.

"Are you okay, Ashley?" Spencer's eyes bore into me, the concern in them growing.

"Yeah, something wrong?" Madison echoes. Her attempt at sincerity makes Sherry sound downright genuine.

"I—I'm fine," I stutter. In reality, I'm sweating, jumpy, and painfully embarrassed. Again, I push my shoulder up into my neck. The Vultures jostle into me, and I jerk away nervously.

"Anyways, Spencer," Madison continues, leaving the distasteful (while Spencer is watching) job of tormenting me to her minions, "I hear _someone_ has a date with a very hot guy." She wiggles her eyebrows, and I watch Spencer flush. How does Madison find this stuff out?

My toe is stepped on in a highly conspicuous accident. Yelping, I leap almost out of my seat.

"Ashley!" Spencer is on her feet.

"I need to go." I throw my lunch into a trash can and try not to trip on the way out. Breathing hard, I stumble outside the cafeteria and lean against the wall. I can't let them get to me like this, especially in front of Spencer. My stomach turns at the thought of her questioning me about Madison's behavior.

A light tap on my shoulder sends me lunging in the opposite direction.

"Ashley!" It's just Spencer. I stare at her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not."

"Then, what was that back there?"

"It wasn't anything," I insist sullenly.

"What's your problem?" she demands, suddenly hostile. "You won't even talk to me! What did I do to you?"

Anger flares, but as always, I don't say anything. My silence holds, even as she storms away.

* * *

For what feels like the fiftieth time today, someone asks me: "are you okay, Ashley?" Talise asks from her bed in our room.

"I'm okay," I respond.

"There's a _Sins & Secrets_ on that we can watch after dinner if you want. Just make sure you finish your homework," she tells me, barely glancing up from her own homework. "Sometimes I wonder if some of these people are sincere at all. The family is definitely hurt, but I think some of the friends aren't really as broken up as they claim to be. Once someone…"

Talise and I get along for several reasons. First of all, Talise is nearly as awkward as me when it comes to talking with someone. Fortunately, she loves to talk _about_ anything. Whether it's capital punishment or something stupid on a TV commercial, she manages to keep us from sinking into complete, painful silences.

"…and who has a name like 'Aphrodite'? What were her parents thinking? Did they want their daughter to become the symbol of love and sex? And then she's got a last name like 'Jones'. Were they that desperate to give their daughter a unique name that they go for 'Aphrodite'? Then, it turns out that she's like the most serious person ever." She pauses for breath.

"Whatever happens, Ashley, be thankful that your father wasn't high enough when you were born to name you 'Aphrodite'. Any bad situation can be exacerbated when your name is 'Aphrodite'," she informs me sagely. Then, an uncontainable grin creeps up his face.

"I'll keep that in mind, _Talise_." I remind her of her own, less-than-common, name pointedly.

"Yeah, having a name like Talise can exacerbate most situations too. At least no one will ever mispronounce your name at your impending execution."

"Such comfort." I roll my eyes.

That's the second reason we work well together. We don't crowd each other for information. We let things go. We don't need to know everything. We have an understanding that we'll have each others' support and trust that the other won't do anything rash. Talise hasn't even mentioned Spencer since yesterday and probably never will again.

Suddenly, Aiden's head pokes up through the attic floor. "Hey guys!" he shouts. "It's time to eat."

"Thank you for blowing my ears out. Greatly appreciated," Talise drawls.

Reason four: Talise is almost as finicky as me when it comes to noises and lights. Everything bothers us. We hate loud music, heating pipes, glare at Joe when he has the TV on all night, and replaced our blinds with thick black curtains.

"Whatever. You better get down there. Mom has some guests over, and she's dying to introduce them to you. They have a son in medical school."

"Of course they do. Maybe I'll fall madly in love with him, marry him, have two perfect kids, and become a neurologist." The sarcasm in her voice grows as she gets up.

"Can't hurt to hope," Aiden smirks. "Besides, you always wanted to be one before."

"Yeah, and then I went to a hospital and found out doctors spend half their time dealing with idiots and the other half being idiots." Her foot hovers over the trapdoor. "Now, get your head out of the way before I step on it."

"Whatever," he repeats, shimmying down.

* * *

Three strangers stand in the dining room, making "oh-thank-you-for-inviting-us-to-dinner" and "oh-what-a-lovely-home-you-have-here" faces. The couple is gray-haired and wrinkly. Their son is dark-haired, slightly on the big-nosed side, and obscenely cheerful.

"Oh there you are, Tali. Come, you must meet Mr. and Mrs. Plum, and their son, David."

"Oh hi dear," the woman smiles.

"Hello," Talise says with bland politeness.

"And this is David," my mother exclaims, basically shoves him up in Talise's face.

"Hello, I'm David," he chirps, pumping her hand up and down. It would be going a lot faster if Talise wasn't deliberately stiffening her arm to slow him down.

"So I've heard,"she remarks impassively. I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not. Knowing Talise, I'm willing to bet she is. "Talise."

"So _I've_ heard," he replies brightly, seemingly unfazed by Talise's possible mocking. "Nice to meet you, Tali."

"You too. It's Talise, by the way."

"I'm sure we'll have a great time, Tali," he responds. Snickering, I watch a vein on Talise's forehead practically throb while she smiles placidly. If my mother isn't already in love with him, she'll be head over heels now.

The next moment, I find myself under inspection and my hand vigorously jerked up and down.

"Hello, I'm David." Over his head, I meet Talise's eyes, but her eyes betray nothing. Still, I have no doubts that this guy will be the subject of a rant in the near future.

"I'm Ashley," I say quietly. Then, I jump when my mother pats my shoulder. The fifth reason Talise and I are so compatible is that Talise is not a touchy-feely. Even when I was little, and super-sensitive to a lot of stuff, I could trust her not to randomly hug me.

By the time David is done with my hand, my entire arm is numb. Immediately, it is seized by a plushy Mrs. Plum, and then a grimly serious Mr. Plum who shakes hands even more ponderously than Talise. With many compliments, expressions of rapture, and exasperated sighs, we make our way to the dining room.

Our arrangement at dinner wedges Talise between David and my mother, with me across from her. Thus I have a perfect view of the little drama unfolding before me.

David will ask, "what's your major, Tali?"

"English," is her short reply.

"Talise has always been such a fantastic writer. She won the California Coastal Art and Poetry Contest two years ago," My mother elaborates earnestly. "Right, Tali?"

"Yep."

A few seconds later, David tries again to engage Talise's attention. "What are you thinking about doing after college?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, I know that you're hoping to write more, Tali. As parents, though, we hope that she'll find something stable. We were really hoping that she would go for medical school." She turns to Talise as though imparting a particularly juicy piece of gossip. "David is in medical school."

"Oh no. Not yet. I'm starting next year." He smiles goofily. Talise suppresses a sigh. My mother brushes off his correction and pushes Talise further towards David.

"I need to use the bathroom." Talise gets up and strides out of the dining room.

Which sets a tone for the rest of the evening. No matter how obnoxiously David pries and how industriously my mother promotes, Talise keeps an aloof civility, barely looking at him. True to her nature, she stays so calm that no one can tell whether she's faking it.

It wasn't until after dinner that things start heating up. Christine begins her usual parade of accomplished children while we are gathered in the living room.

"Aiden is in USC's pre-law program. He's going to become a lawyer like his father. We're so proud of him." Hearing this latest declaration, Talise rolls her eyes as she "talks" with David in the corner.

"He's certainly a very handsome young man," Mrs. Plum comments with an ingratiating smile. Aiden thanks her smoothly. Ben, who has always been unsatisfied with his meager height, puffs out his chest in the hopes of getting some recognition for his good-looks. I say "good looks" in the loosest possible way. His posturing goes ignored and Mrs. Plum continues, "I'll bet he gets all the girls." She finishes with a wink.

"No kidding," Kyla mutters. Christine shoots her a warning glance.

"I hope you're a good guy, Aiden. If you turn out to be one of two-timing bastards, I'll have to come after you." I'm wondering if I'm the only person who thought that was a really weird thing to say. Out of the corner of her mouth, Talise mouths, _too much wine,_ at me from across the room.

"Too, bad," Kyla says loudly. "He's definitely a two-timing bastard." This time Talise shrugs.

"Kyla," Christine reprimands urgently.

"He's a two-timing bastard who can't keep it in his pants! He has no respect for me or any of the girls he dates. When has he ever dated one for more than a month?"

"We have guests, Kyla!" Christine is indignant.

"Don't you dare defend him. Not after what he did!" Kyla shouts, red in the face.

"You can't help who you love, Kyla," Aiden appeals.

"Don't give me that bullshit," she snarls.

"Yeah, what did you have to butt in for?" Ben adds, forgetting his own interference.

"Look, I wasn't trying—"

"Then, you shouldn't have—"

I wonder where this is going.

* * *

In spite of all the ruckus his news created, Aiden goes on with his date as planned, cheerfully ignoring the glares of utter detestation that follow him out the door.

Kyla was grounded after last night. "How dare you make a scene while we have guests?" and whatnot.

I slump in the kitchen with my arms crossed on the counter in front of me and my head perched on top of them. Staring at the wall, I imagine all the possible impossibly convenient accidents that Aiden could meet with on his way to Spencer's house, not the least realistic of which involves a hairdresser, a monkey, and several pounds of shredded parmesan cheese.

"Um, Ashley," a voice calls out hesitantly. When I glance up, I'm startled to see Kyla sliding into the seat next to me. I don't think I've ever had a real conversation with Kyla.

It's not that we hate each other or something, but when I first met Kyla she was seven and really into her Barbies. I was nine and wanted to hate everything about this new family I was being stuffed into. Then, well, the seizure that took me years to recover from happened. After that I sort of became the crazy relative that everyone takes care of but don't pay much attention too. You know that relative who your friends notice shuffling around in the background with a string of cans, and you say something like: "Oh, that's just Uncle Bobby. He was always a little off, poor bugger, but don't worry. He's perfectly nice. Now what were you saying about those window drapes?"

So, I'm surprised that Kyla is sitting here now about to have what looks like is going to be a deep and heartfelt conversation with me. I maintain my usual silence but turn to make eye contact. Pausing to make sure that I'm listening, she haltingly gets out her next words.

"I— I wanted you to— just—," she takes a deep breath. "Thanks." My face crinkles in confusion. "When Spencer's mother was here, you stood up for me," she clarifies. "I wanted to tell you that it meant a lot to me. It was brave." At some point, I realize, I'm going to have to say something back.

"It wasn't a huge deal." My voice sounds dry and papery, even to me.

"It was to me," insists Kyla. Chances are I'm blushing by now. Hoping that I'll magically come up with something smart, interesting or, at the very least, appropriate to say, I shift awkwardly. Luckily, Kyla opens her mouth to continue. "It's good to know that there's someone in this house who isn't crushing on Spencer."

"Yeah," I croak.


	8. Actor's Mask

**Look! It's a miracle, Charlie Brown: I actually finished this chapter!**

**I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors, but I was so desperate to get this up and get my brain back into the story that I didn't look through this as thoroughly as a probably should. **

**Next chapter, there will be more Spencer, but I'm trying to build this beyond just romance.**

**By the way, does anyone else think this SoN movie with MTV is a little fishy? I just don't like how the meeting keeps get pushed back.**

**Also, what should I do with David Plum? At the moment he's only comic relief, but I'm considering a bigger part for him.**

Actor's Mask

Spencer and I don't talk much anymore. It's not a big deal. I've survived without her, and I can continue to do so. I'm not even a people person. I've got Talise and my father, and that's good enough. So, I'm not popular, but I'm so out of the loop that nobody can actually hate me. It's sad but not overwhelmingly tragic.

"Put the vacuum away, Ashley," my mother shouts even though I'm barely six feet away. Sighing, I start winding up the cord while she bustles off to the kitchen. Just as I'm finishing up, I hear, "Ashley! I need you to wipe the bathroom floor." Tiredly, I start up the stairs. My entire day has been spent in sanitizing and random furniture re-arranging. This is what Thanksgiving does to you. The extended family of Christine Woods is a fearsome thing. Even Joe is harassed into mopping the kitchen floor.

On my way to the bathroom, I pass Ben lugging a box full of decorations up from the basement. He's too short to see over the top of it and keeps bumping into things. Swearing, he totters towards the door and promptly slams into Waldo, who was talking over his shoulder to Kyla. The resulting chaos is hilarious, but I am forced to scurry away when I hear my mother making her way over.

"There you are, Wallace!" One of my aunts (my mother's older sister) sweeps Waldo up in a hug. The living room is full of aunts, uncle, cousins, step-'s of all the aforementioned, family friends, and one grandmother.

I hate them all.

Okay, I only hate one or two of them particularly, but I detest having all these people over.

Becky, Joe's younger sister, is busy trying to get her spoiled daughter to sit still. Like mother like daughter. The little brat, Bianca, starts wailing and interrupts the greeting process. Her father tries to bribe her with candy. As she shakes her head wildly, her brown curls go flying. Everyone is quick to assure her parents that no harm was done and coos over her messy hair.

Talise is having a conversation with Joe's college buddy's son. Irritation continually flicks across her face as she watches the awkward creature that is our family blunder around the room. She throws me a forced smile and rubs her face tiredly.

"Oh, let me get that!" my mother exclaims when the doorbell rings.

Step-aunt Becky, having left the monumental task of calming their daughter with her pushover of a husband, winds her way over to me.

"So, Ashley, how are you doing in school?"

"Fine." I lean against a wall, stare straight ahead, and inhale deeply. Then, I nearly choke on the smell of disinfectant that has soaked into my skin.

"Fine? Really? My brother just told me that you have a D-average in History and English. I certainly hope that's not your idea of fine." _Why the hell would you ask me how I'm doing if you already now?_ "You must learn how to apply yourself better. Joe and Christine have provided you with wonderful opportunities that most people couldn't dream of. You are extremely lucky to have such a stable home environment and freedom."

Overhearing the conversation, Christine's mother detaches herself from lecturing a friend about how to discipline children (her favorite topic) to join Aunt Becky. "Christy has always done everything for this girl," my grandmother informs us in the air of one who knows more about this subject than anyone else. "The best treatment, the best care, while that bastard of a rock star runs around the country getting drunk."

There are three types of grandmothers in the world. Those that do nothing but sit in a rocking chair, those that bustle around doing grandmotherly things, and the vicious ones. Guess which one mine is.

When you look at me and my grandmother you can see the family connection. We have the same face and basic build. Sure, my mother and I both have brown hair and brown eyes, but if a stranger saw a picture of my mother, my father and me they'd never assume that we're related. Maybe that's symbolic or something of the state of our family. With my grandmother though, strangers can clearly tell that I'm related to her, and she to my mother.

Turning towards me, she fixes me with steely eyes. They're just like my eyes.

"You better realize how lucky you are, young lady, and appreciate what your parents do for you. You have no excuse for not being at least as good as your siblings. If anything, after all the money and time Christine has devoted to you, you should be exceeding your siblings."

I tap my fingers on the wall as the two women rail on about my inadequacies. Most people don't think I'm a popular person. I disagree. I'm very popular. _Everyone _loves to talk about what's wrong with me and what a screw-up I am.

"Look, everybody!" Everybody turns to see my mother coming in. My mother, however, only has eyes for Talise. That's not— oh god, it is. This is hilarious.

"It's the Plums!"

My eyes dart over to where Talise's are just returning from their trip to the ceiling. Even as David is pulled over to her, the mask of indifference settles onto her face.

"Hello, Tali!"

It's great not being the most miserable person in the room.

Dinner takes place in the great dining room which is twice as large as our normal dining room. And, our normal dining room could hold all of us and the Carlins—twelve people—with plenty of room to spare. Having spent the last few frantic moments before the guests arrived setting the table, I know that there are exactly 37 people here today. And 6 turkeys.

As luck would have it, I'm jostled in between Bianca and Betty on one side and Billy (an old family friend) on the other. Across from me, my grandmother sits stiffly on the wooden seat. Talise is on the other table, trapped next to David.

We don't use the great dining room often. When I was younger, I was terrified of its high ceiling and huge emptiness. It still unnerves me. Between the unrelenting disapproval that streams from my grandmother and aunt, the intermittent shrieks from Bianca, and the indifference of a man I barely know, I'm too wound up to eat much. The turkey tastes like sand anyways.

"Is something wrong with your food?" comes the sudden sharp question from my grandmother.

"No," I reply, startled. My hand releases its hold on the table cloth.

"Then, why aren't you eating anything?" she shoves a plate of squash, which I hate even more than the turkey, towards me. "Stop being rude and eat. Don't look at me so ungratefully. As though you owe nothing to your mother who worked so hard to raise you and cook this meal." For an instant, my hackles rise, but I master myself while trying not to suffocate on squash.

The rest of the room is filled with the tinkle of china and polite laughter. Uncles chuckle majestically (or at least they think they do) and try to tell their nieces about how _their_ uncle took them fishing once. Nieces barely listen. Parents brag and admonish their kids. Kids ask, "can I be excused _now_?"

These people aren't my family. I've got half their genes at the most. Talise and I don't share anything but a room and asocial tendencies. What right do they have to judge me? What do I owe them? Love? Respect? Devotion? Why? What have they done for me?

My father is the only family I'll ever have, and he's never here. He'll call tonight, and I'll tell him that everything is great, don't worry, and that I love him. I won't tell him that everyone wants me to fail so they can say I told you so or that sometimes I feel so lonely that I wonder if I'm human. Sometimes I'm so lonely I'm not sure if I'm real.

You know what? I hate the Carlins, the stupid family where everyone has the same last name and the same blue eyes. I hate Glen for being so weak that he can't pick himself up and get over whatever happened to him but instead attacks the world and feels justified. I hate Paula for hating people she doesn't know and for being one more person who thinks the world would be a better place without me. I even hate Mr. Carlin for being so... so... uninteresting and useless.

Most of all, I hate Spencer for assuming that I'll fall into her life like another perfectly-shaped piece on a perfectly-made puzzle. Just because she can hold a pleasant conversation with Madison doesn't mean I can. I don't know what I'm doing wrong half the time, but everyone seems to despise me for it. They expect me to get straight A's because other people can and love my family because other people do. They want me to socialize more, as though I can re-shape my entire world overnight and escape the mold that's been built for me.

I hate them all, and that's okay because they hate me too.

My grandmother narrows her eyes, "You're a spoiled child who barely deserves any of what Christine gives you." In the background, Bianca refuses to eat her squash unless Daddy buys her a pony. "You're a disgrace to this family. I told Christine she was making a mistake taking you in," she hisses.

For a moment, I'm to furious to speak. The moment quickly passes. "_I'm_ not the bastard child," I snarl just loud enough for her to hear. "_I'm _not the illegitimate baby that your lovely daughter and my loving mother had because she was such a whore."

"How dare you?" Her face as red as Santa Claus' shirt, my grandmother leaps to her feet and screams. Combined with her shock of cropped white hair she reminds me of Christmas. You know, if Christmas ever manifested into a rabid Tasmanian devil. "You are the most selfish, ungrateful, disrespectful, disgraceful excuse for a daughter that I have ever come across."

Most of the room is watching us now in various stages of alarm. Christine pushes her chair back and starts walking over from the other side of the room.

"Do you think your father was a saint?" My grandmother continues, her voice getting louder by the second. "That lousy son-of-a-bitch got—"

"Mom, can we finish this in the kitchen?" Christine cuts in tightly. With her skin pale and straining over the bones of her face, she clamps down on my wrist, tugging me into the kitchen. Her mother follows behind us. The room behind us breaks out into a flurry of polite coughing (don't know when coughing became polite) as we leave.

"What in the world is going on?" My mother demands the second the kitchen door swings closed behind us. Her eyes travel from me to her mother beseechingly. I stay silent. My grandmother, however, wastes no time in informing her that I'm a terrible child, bad seed, all that fun stuff.

Two guys in my gym class last week saw two birds in the sky. One of them said, "hey, look. It's two herrings." I thought it was pretty amusing, but Talise nearly exploded at their stupidity when I told her about it. People say stupid things all the time. Which brings me t—.

"Ashley!" My head jerks up to see my mother looking at me very seriously. Whenever Christine needs to be a mother, she reverts to that role she had as a struggling single parent millimeters away from financial ruin but bravely holds her little family (it's always a "little" family) together until she falls in love with and marries a rich guy somewhere. I think she won an award for that at some point.

Right now she's looking intently at me with serious, dark eyes that are not to be lied to. "Did you really say all those horrible things?"

The music has stopped. I feel like I'm in a movie. "I said two sentences, and they were true."

My grandmother cannot contain her rage. "You called your own mother a whore!" she shrieks. If they didn't hear that in the dining room, they must be deaf.

I stand there, probably bone white, with my hands shaking uncontrollably. Christine turns to her mother. "Please keep your voice down, Mom." Then, she tries to entrance me with her openly warm eyes again. "How could you say that, Ashley?"

I don't get it. Does she have amnesia or something? She knows what she did. She knows that she's never been there for me. How can she not know why I hate her? How can she expect me to pretend like I don't know?

"I don't when we drifted so far apart," my mother claims in a heart-broken voice. Tears collect at the corner of her eyes. Guiltily, I stare at the floor. I hate her for making me feel so uncomfortable. As though, I've been unfairly harsh on her. As though she's done nothing wrong. "Sometimes, it's like you don't hear me at all. Like we're speaking different languages. You just go your own way, and nothing I say gets through." By now the tears are coursing down her face.

"I'm sorry," I say. Anything to get her to stop crying. My mother makes a strange strangled sound. Lunging, she envelopes me. "I love you," she tells me, making more choked crying noises.

I walk back to the dining as dazed as if I had just left a movie theater. My mother gives me watery smile as she returns to her seat, seeming to think that we had just shared a significant mother-daughter moment. But we didn't. Her tears haven't changed anything she's done, and her smile is an actress's, coming on and off at any moment.

I believe everything I've said.

I remember the door swinging closed when I was five. "I'm going shopping," she told me cheerfully, her heels clicking across the floor. I wanted to go too. Being in the big house with strangers all the time was boring. "You don't want to go shopping, Ashley." She laughed at me. "I'll be back soon, okay?" Just like that, she left in a cloud of perfume, off to play housewife with her new family. For three days she was gone; long enough for the door to slam shut and stay shut.


	9. StarFitting Lovers

_**Runt of the Litter **_**is back in action. This chapter is mainly to lead into the more exciting chapters to come. Hope you enjoy anyways.**

* * *

9. Star-Fitting Lovers

On the week of Holiday Break, Talise, Aiden, Kyla, Wally, and I are spread about the red room (the room with red furniture which people sometimes confuse with the sunset room next door). Everyone is mellowing out after our frantic Christmas celebrations which involved a return of the relatives from the Underworld and several pounds of tinsel. My father, who promised to make this year, is stuck in France because of his agent. Instead, he sent me a gold necklace with a phoenix on it. "Next year," he told me, his voice full of rueful sadness.

Ben comes in groaning, "Only three more days of break left."

"Don't remind me," Wally groans, trying to pick tinsel off of his shirt.

Talise and I are sitting on the sofa, bent over the same game of Solitaire, looking for anyway to solve the puzzle. It seems like we've already hit another dead end. Running her fingers through her scalp, Talise sighs in frustration and runs her eyes systematically down each column.

"So, Dad, I was thinking," Aiden starts. He puts down the folder he's been flipping through. Joe peers over the top of his paper. "During winter break in February, me and some of the guys at Uni. were thinking about spending a week in Las Vegas." Joe waits for him to continue. Already, his eyes study his son skeptically.

When Aiden's pause lengthens Joe finally asks, "Why are you asking me? You're eighteen. It's not as though you need my permission."

"Well..." Aiden trails off.

"He needs your money," Kyla interrupts, her face a picture of smooth delight.

"I do not!" Aiden insists. Joe glances at him questioningly. "Need a lot of it," he mutters.

"You have a job, Aiden," his father points out. "I think that it's time for you to start managing your own finances."

"I'm not just asking you for money, Dad. I have everything planned out." He hands over his manila folder. Joe takes it and glances through the pages.

"A suite at the Wynn?" he asks.

"I want to take Spencer with me, and I want it to be somewhere nice."

"You want Spencer to go with you?" Although he may not be the model parent, even Joe can probably guess why. Abruptly, Kyla storms out of the room. With a bang, the door slams shut. A bewildered Joe isn't sure whether to go after her or not, so he just sits there, half-out of his chair, until Aiden resumes speaking.

"She's been kind of down lately, and I want her to be happy." Of course she's down, Aiden. She's with you. You are the master at turning something bright and happy into rust.

"And why Las Vegas?" Joe inquires innocently.

"Yeah, the city of gambling and prostitutes just screams rainbows and sunshine," I mutter. What about Spencer makes Aiden think that taking her to Las Vegas is a good idea?

"I thought you liked Las Vegas," Talise points out to me in a low voice.

"It's fun, but it doesn't seem very Spencer-like."

"You know it's not just gambling, beer, and prostitutes. There's a ton of other stuff you can do though Aiden will probably want to find a club or something."

"Exactly," I respond. "Why would Spencer want to go to a club to cheer up?"

"Why would anybody? Spencer's not porcelain. She'll get caught up in the rush just like everybody else."

"She's not anybody else," I snap. It's true. She's better than everyone in the world.

Talise gives me a weird look, "She's as human as you or me."

"But come on, Dad," Aiden wails, wrenching our attention back to him.

"There is no way I'm leaving both of you alone in Las Vegas without a chaperone," Joe states with finality.

"Then, then," Aiden splutters for a moment before his eyes fall on his twin. "Talise can go with us. She and Spencer can sleep in one room, and the guys can sleep in another."

"I can?" is Talise's response.

Ben jumps up, "Wait, can I go too?"

"Please?" Aiden implores both his father and sister. "Come on, Talise. You have money saved up. I'll pay for the rooms, and you can use your money on whatever you want." His sister doesn't seem attracted to the idea. "It's been forever since we've gone anywhere together."

"I'll think about—"

Simultaneously, Joe begins, "Talise, if you go there, I'm counting on you to make sure that these to don't get up to anything."

Abruptly, Talise stops talking to listen, a smile flashing across her face. It wasn't a nice, friendly one either. In fact, it looked sort of vicious. "I know, and I'll go."

"Thanks!" Aiden wraps his arm around her. "I owe you one."

"Good, because I'm taking Ashley with me." Aiden blinks and his face contorts in half-dozen different ways before he settles on one. Fury, directed at me.

"Well, I'm not just going to leave you on your own all Winter Break," Talise reasons, her temper still under control. My temper, on the other hand, just blew a hole through the roof. Really? Do you really not trust me at all, Talise. You of all people should know that not having the psychology book's perfect personality doesn't make you a diseased freak. Why is introversion treated as a sickness while extroversion is merely a cute thing to smile at?

"Well, I don't want to go." I stomp across the attic while Talise lies back on her bed. "Why can't you leave me alone for a week? What's the big deal?"

"I just want to make sure—"

"That I won't kill myself or something? Why does everyone think that? I'm fine, okay? I don't need you to watch me. I just really don't want to go." I really don't want to sleep in the same room as Spencer after our falling out. God, I really don't want to have to be that close to her and watch her hang out with Aiden and kiss him and—

"Just come with, Ashley." Eyes storming softly, she pleads with me. "Come to the dark side, Ashley."

"You've never even watched _Star Wars_ before," I remind her irritably.

"That was from _Star Wars_? I thought it was from _Lord of the Rings_ or something. Anyways, just come Ashley. There will be plenty to do." I stare up at the poem-plastered ceiling. Yeats stares back. Talise tapes her favorite poems up everywhere. Who knows what she'll do once we run out of room?

_And maybe what they say is true  
Of war and war's alarms,  
But O that I were young again  
And held her in my arms._

In Las Vegas, there will be volcanoes and lions. There will be pirates and water fountains. There will be Spencer and blond hair and the only blue eyes worth looking at—even if they never look at me.

"Fine."

Our carpeted stairs lead from the second floor top the first. Just as I put my foot down on a cool tile, my mother pounces. "So, Tali!" Alarmed, I clap my hands over my ears which earns me a look of disdain from my mother. "What do you think of David?" She stretches out the name "David" like a gossiping teenager.

Talise leaves her face blank and barely grits her teeth at all, replying, "I think that he is homely and perspicuous."

"I'm so glad that you're feeling so comfortable with him," my mother gushes. "I know he's so excited to be coming to dinner tonight."

Nostrils flaring at either the overuse of "so" or the thought of David's arrival, Talise says in a precise, formal tone, "I would gladly abjure his presence in my vicinity at all times for I find it enervating and fulsome."

Let's make this clear: I did not understand a word of that.

At that moment, the doorbell rings and my mother rushes off to answer it, squealing, "That'll be him!"

Talise rubs her face in exasperation. "Why me?" she asks the ceiling.

I take the liberty of answering for the inanimate object, "Because the world hates your guts."

Before Talise can even finish rolling her eyes, David pops in like a bunny rabbit on steroids. Energizer should sue him for copyright infringement. "Hello, Tali."

"Hello, David."

"You should call me Dave, Tali. All my friends do," he offers brightly.

"I'll keep that in mind, David." The light above us flickers.

After several tedious minutes of one-sided small talk, Talise and I manage to slip away into a corner of the red room. Noticing our Solitaire game left on the coffee table, I return to our earlier spot on the scarlet sofa and absently study the cards. There is no Ace of Clubs for the Two. My former partner seems to have given up and curls up on the rocking chair.

"Thank god for Ben's inability to be graceful," I announce, examining the cards for a Four of Hearts. Apparently, the only way to get rid of David is to have a clumsy person trip over their own feet and dump a gallon of cranberry juice all over his clean white shirt.

"Thank god for Ben's obsession with cranberry juice," Talise says, following my previous statement.

"How can anyone be that dense?" I wonder aloud. What admissions officer would allow David Plum into their school? And why does the Six of Diamonds have to be on top of the Seven of Diamonds?

Talise broods for a moment. "He's trying to get a rise out of me. I don't think he's really that thick."

The thought had never occurred to me that it might be a big joke to David. I scrutinize Talise's face to see that it has darkened. "Is that a good thing?" I question tentatively. Where's the King of Hearts? If I could just move that Queen off the Ten of Spades.

"No. If anything it makes me want to strangle him even more." She pauses, and I feel like there's more she'll say so I wait. "But, of course, that would be a reaction which means he wins. Conversely, he's slowly driving me off the deep end."

Calling up one of Talise's favorite sayings, I recite, "No one can drive you crazy if you don't give them the keys."

"What if they hotwired your car?" Suddenly, I remember a commercial. "H-O-T-W-I-R-E, ," I sing.

"No, don't start," Talise moans. "Besides that's a travel website, right?"

"Yeah, you need to book a flight that goes 'off the deep end,'" I inform her like it's obvious.

Completing an eye roll, Talise mutters, "I'll win this though. Idiot doesn't know what he's dealing with." Peering at her from over my unruly cards (I'm glaring at the Three of Clubs in the hope that it will turn into a Five), I raise my eyebrows. Where did that come from? "You know, as long as I don't jump off a cliff first."

I snicker at her last words. Wait—Three of Clubs? Wasn't there a Two of Clubs over there? "Yes!"

Talise jerks up, startled, "Huh?"

In a couple of minutes, I have four neat piles from Ace through King stacked in front of me. And just like that, the cards fall into place.


	10. Crashing

**Everyone should thank rebel scamp for badgering me into getting this done. Hounding of that level takes devotion and grit.**

**Happy birthday to me (in a week or so!)**

**Happy birthday to me (in a week or so!)**

**Happy birthday to me-e (in a week or so!)**

**Happy birthday to me (in a week or so!)**

**Did you know that if you underline Verdana the bottom of the "g" doesn't show up? **

**Yes, I've officially gone insane.**

**Thank you to my lovely cat who kept me company while I was typing part of this on a laptop and didn't step on the keyboard (almost) the entire time.**

**Because line breaks refuse to show up (at least on my computer) this is my new line break: ~~~~~~~~~**

10. Crashing

When my mother heard the about the planned trip to Las Vegas, well, she barely seemed to hear. We are sitting around the living room with Joe and Aiden trying to get her attention, but she's too busy poring over a new script to notice their not-so-subtle coughing. Her agent, Dylan, keeps calling her every hour or so. Even on Christmas Day, we barely saw her until the guests started arriving.

"So I heard that they're aliens on an intergalactic mission to clean the world," Talise remarks conversationally. I choke, Joe glares at his daughter, and Aiden snickers.

"That's great, Kyla," my mother responds, obviously distracted.

"I'm over here, Mom," Kyla snaps. Lines of thwarted love are etched permanently onto her face these days. She nearly murdered Waldo for saying "Have a nice night!" to Aiden before he left to take Spencer on another date.

"Okay," my mother murmurs absently.

"So can we go or not?" Aiden demands eagerly.

"Sure, dear."

"Sweet!" Aiden leaps to his feet.

"Sit down," Joe reprimands before turning on his wife. "Christine, can you put that down for a second." Irritation colors his voice.

"Just a moment."

Joe sighs, "This will only take a moment."

"Mm-hmm."

Admitting defeat, Joe turns up the volume on the TV. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

With a roll of the eyes, Talise pushes herself off the couch. "Good night," she announces to no one in particular.

Silently, I follow her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Aiden giving me a weird look. Maybe he's tired or something.

We climb the seemingly endless flights of steps to the attic. Halfway to the third floor, we hear shouting.

"I don't..." Joe's voice trails off.

"You're so selfish...always doing..." It sounds like he and my mother are arguing. Why? Well, a better question for those two would be: Why not?

Talise's knuckles go white on the railing. Everything our "parents" irks her since school started. "Why the hell did they get married if all they do is fight?"

I look at her, surprised by the sudden outburst. Every year or so, my mother and Joe have a period where they can't stand the sight of each other. It's my belief that this period of hatred counteracts the rest of their usual sappy, soppy, dripping-with-overwrought-emotion marriage. There's nothing new. Unsure of what she wants me to say, I answer, "Why does anyone get married?"

"Because they're idiots," Talise growls.

Her mood is starting to worry me a little. Confused, I let the silence drag as we trudge up yet another flight of stairs.

The ladder to the attic clatters down. I flinch. One day we're going to break that thing and then we'll never be able to get away from the rest of our "family". When Talise practically storms up the ladder, I suggest tentatively, "Maybe we should be a little nicer to the ladder."

Talise mutters something unintelligible. I'm not sure if I want to know what it is.

My schoolwork is strewn across the floor. Feeling obliged to say something—anything, I observe, "So, 'Action Will Be Taken', Heinrich Böll... it's a really active story there." Cringing at the forced optimism in my voice, I remind myself to never make small talk again.

"It's a story about stupid people who are too stupid to care about the stupid stuff that's right in front of them and too stupid to admit it." Talise yanks out some drawers and paws through the contents before smashing them shut. Is she looking for something? It looks more like she just wants to annihilate the world.

"Um, well..." Think of something clever of say, anything to say. "That's certainly a refreshing take on Böll's World War II satire." That sounded scholarly, right?

"The narrator is some guy during Germany's Nazi regime," Talise snarls. "He tries to avoid knowing what his job is about by doing a bunch of useless stuff, but then his boss dies because the narrator hesitates. The narrator then mourns what happened and tries to be good and other stupid stuff. It's about how if some ruthless guy comes to power everyone in the world will just turn a blind eye as he commits mass genocide," she explains as though Böll has personally offended her.

"And here I was thinking it was about stupid people who are too stupid to care about the stupid stuff that's right in front of them and too stupid to admit it." At least now I have some understanding of the story despite my horrendously horrible English teacher. This evening hasn't been a complete waste.

"Same difference."

"Aren't you the one who hates that phrase?"

"I will impale you." The good news is that she only sounds irritated right now. I can deal with that. It's the festering resentment that alarms me.

"Pleasant," I reply, thinking of Vlad the Impaler.

"You need to spend less time with me."

Snorting in disbelief, I scoff, "Says the person who's making me go to Las Vegas with her."

"Speaking of which, how does Aiden plan to get Spencer's parents to agree on this?" Finally drained of anger, Talise flops onto her bed.

With a shrug, I fall onto my bed. How _does_ he plan on doing that? Frommy point of view, it didn't seem like Spencer's mother was the type to send her daughter on a road trip with a bunch of college guys to Las Vegas. Maybe she's really easygoing though and just incredibly homophobic.

Maybe koalas aren't violent little creatures filled to the brim with evil intent.

Okay, okay, that might be going a little too far, but I'd rather try to clip a wet cat's claws than hold a disgruntled koala.

Glancing across the room, I notice Talise staring at something in her hands, almost captivated by whatever it is.

"Hey, Talise."

She comes out of her trance and shoves the object beneath a pillow. "Yeah?"

"What's—"

"I'm going to take a shower," she interrupts, as though she knows what I'm about to say.

As she digs out a bathrobe, I try again. "Is something going on? What's—" the slamming of the trap door slices into my inquiry "—wrong?"

More silence.

Part of me is drowning under a wave of curiosity. I wonder what she's got stuffed under her pillow. Talise is always nosing into my business, but she never tells me about hers. Shouldn't I try to figure out what's wrong and, I don't know, help her? At the same time, if I feel patronized when people treat me like I'm about to commit suicide, then Talise will too. And she doesn't pry _that_ much. She just needs to stop asking me about Spencer. Is it my duty to find out what's bothering her? Does she expect me to figure it out? Is it wrong for me not to dig deeper? Why are people so complicated?

By the time Talise gets back from her shower, I'm still chasing my thoughts around in circles. It's too late now.

"Are you going to take a shower?" she asks, carefully turned away from me.

"Yeah." When I get back, the room is dark.

"I don't see why we have to do this," Joe grumbles.

"If the kids are going to go on this trip, then we should all get together and plan this," my mother replies, voice resolutely calm. The house crackles with tension. Due to some inexplicable bump in their relationship, she and Joe have been at each other's throats all week. They make little, jabbing, needling comments until one of them goes ballistic. Minor irritations are blown up into dispositional disasters. Meanwhile, Talise's mood blackens each day. We spend a lot of time holed up in the attic where the constant squabbling doesn't reach. Usually.

"It's none of our business if her parents don't want her to go." Wait, are they talking about Spencer? "We don't have to organize everything. It's not our responsibility," Joe insists.

Frustration seeps into my mother's tone. "Don't be selfish. Can't you see how much this means to your son?"

"Aiden can fend for himself. You just want to be the center of attention," Joe accuses, tearing through the cabinets for another bottle of wine. Talise would probably kill me if I mentioned that she's kind if like Joe. Both of them seem to enjoy opening and slamming things when they're upset.

"I what?" Composure shattered, my mother whirls on Joe, her skirt swishing. Ben and I are unfortunately trapped in the kitchen with them, and we each begin to shuffle to doors on opposite sides of the room.

"I'm just saying that you always want to have people over. It doesn't matter that I want a quiet night if you have other plans!" Joe shouts.

I slip into the dining room.

"Well, you didn't seem to have a problem when I called the Carlins yesterday!" my mother protests crossly. I wish the two of them would go visit a desert island somewhere and never come back. It would be for the greater good of the world if they did. Joe bursts into the dining room, wine in one hand, eyes rolling. (I'm telling you, certain traits run in the family, especially eye-rolling.)

Oh, great, my mother's coming too.

"As if you ever ask me what I want," Joe bawls.

"Oh, come _on_! I was standing right next to you. I told you I was going to call them," my mother retorts.

Of course, they're blocking the only door with their wind-milling hands and scarlet faces. What is this? The final exam for wannabe Houdinis? I never signed up to be a magician.

Instinctively, I duck under the tablecloth. The white walls of cloth creating a sort of sanctuary with their soft purity. Something crashes down on the table. Both of them are enraged beyond coherency. Joe mocks, "Oh, I'm so sorry," in a child's voice. My mother splutters, her voice shrill and garbled.

Blood boiling, I hiss, "What the hell is their problem?" The tan wood of the table doesn't reply. I think of Talise's drawn face. Don't they see her uneasiness? Even Aiden can tell she's been acting out of character and, as far as I can tell, it's their fault. A wave of outraged justice engulfs me. I want to get out from under the table and scream at them. All of us have been dancing around my mother and Joe for the past week. How is it fair for us? If any of us got into a fight like this, they wouldn't put up with it. Kyla doesn't whack Aiden or holler at him like this. I hate them. They're hypocrites. _Why the hell did they get married if all they do is fight?_

Blazing with righteous fury, I lunge out from under the table. "HOW CAN Y—"

Spencer shrieks.

She backpedals into a wall and hits her head against a shelf. "Spencer!" Her fair hair wafts around her face as she simultaneously gasps and groans, holding her head. "A—are you okay? I'm sorry. I—I didn't know it was you." Still leaning against the neutral walls, she sinks to the floor.

"I think I'm alright," she informs me weakly, batting away my concerned hands. It would be so easy to wrap her up in my arms. Reaching out, I withdraw my hands when she pulls away. I examine them for any sign of the poison that she shrinks from. i don't find it.

"What are you doing here?"

"We're having dinner here." Again, really? After what happened last time? "To talk my parents into letting me go with Aiden to Las Vegas. Your mother invited us. I think Aiden asked her to."

"Oh—hey, where did Joe and my mother go?" I wonder, realizing that we're alone.

"Your mother's in the foyer. Your father—"

"Stepfather."

"Stepfather," she gives me a pointed look. What did I do? "Left when we came in. He said he had to go somewhere."

"Oh." There's silence. Silence seems to be a re-occurring theme in my life. The last time we were this close, we were both angry. I remember it clearly, the burning rage, the need for her to just leave me alone. It just doesn't make any sense anymore. I don't understand why I was mad or how I stayed mad for so long. Try as I might to gather up the lingering dredges of fury, I can't make them stick. To be angry at her feels more grueling than—I don't know, okay? I just don't know. I never know anything, especially when it comes to her and how she seems to know everything.

It feels disjointed and misshapen and malformed and a whole bunch other stuff too.

For me, at least.

She gets up without looking at me. Guess it doesn't bother her too much that we can't even look at each other. We stand there awkwardly, casting our eyes around everything but each other. I think I feel sick. Perhaps skipping dinner and lying down for a while would be a good idea.

She makes a noise, and I look up to find her pinning me with her eyes. "Ash—"

Our families stream into the room.

**Whoever can tell me where ****I got the line (not word for word) "****they're aliens on an intergalactic mission to clean the world" gets tofu.**

**...**

**Well, SOME people hate tofu so I guess I'll get you a cookie instead.**

**(You're not getting anything actually. Just in case you didn't know.)**


	11. Of Pythagoras and Poetry

**I did it! I finally finished this chapter and you'd better read it. Consider it a late Christmas present whether or not you celebrate Christmas.**

**By the way, the thing that Talise said last chapter about intergalactic warriors cleaning up the universe was from a Mr. Clean commercial. Phalourie and badger were the only ones to get it right. A lot of people seemed to think it was from _Toy Story_.**

* * *

11. Of Pythagoras and Poetry

I stab my chicken until my fork hits the plate underneath with a rather noticeable _ding_. Talise's eyes flick towards me before returning to the conversation that is engulfing the table. It's all: blah, blah, transportation, blah, responsibility, blah, blah, blippety, blah Aiden putting his arm around Spencer. Couldn't they have done this over the phone? But no, how could my mother ever pass up an opportunity to play hostess?

Today, her veneer of kind warmth seems thinner than usual, probably because she only recently escaped from a lovers' spat. Every once in a while, her smile droops and her exhaustion shows.

As he gets up to get a glass of water, Aiden presses a kiss to Spencer's temple before whispering something in her ear. She smiles briefly, and he grins back. The moment he's gone, Ben begins plying Spencer with food.

"How about some rolls, Spencer?" Ben gives what her he thinks is a charming smile. I think he looks like a stunted monkey who's been trained to bare his teeth for a slightly unnerved human audience.

Not being incredibly thick-skulled, Spencer can obviously tell this is another of his attempts to woo her. "Oh, I already have one," she informs him politely and turns to the left, towards her mother. Reaching over Aiden's empty seat, Ben grabs her arm to keep her from turning completely away.

"Well, have another," he insists.

"I don't want one," she tells him, pulling her arm out of his grasp.

"Do you have plans this Saturday," he asks hopefully.

"She obviously does, Benjamin, so leave her alone!" Kyla snaps. Standing up, she grabs the salad bowl before falling into another sullen silence. Mrs. Carlin watches the exchange avidly. It's like she's trying to read a meaning in every action, studying the behavior of caged animals. Mr. Carlin merely gives his daughter a sympathetic quirk of the lips.

There's a sort of distance between all the Carlins. Glen, who's been leaving me alone at school, seems to have barred himself from the rest of his family. The older Carlins manage to avoid from each other whenever they're together. I don't think I've ever really seen them even touch. They barely seem to notice the trouble their son gets into or the way their daughter glances at them anxiously, as if she's afraid they'll shatter.

"My main concern about this entire trip is the supervision—or lack thereof," Mrs. Carlin states matter-of-factly. Everything about her seems _restrained_ tonight. Not screaming at my mother for her wayward daughter must be taking it's toll on her.

Leaning forward on her elbows, my mother assures her that Talise is the most responsible, trustworthy, righteous person on the planet. It sounds like she's introducing a superhero (or super-heroine, I guess).

"I'm tremendously responsible," Talise deadpans, her face so humorless and severe that I swear everyone's serotonin levels just plummeted. Even Mrs. Carlin seems a little put-out by the sheer gravity of her gaze.

I nearly choke trying not to laugh.

* * *

Having become thoroughly transformed into a mindless chunk of clay by the tedious planning of Las Vegas trips, I retreat up to the attic.

Aiden's existence was beginning to nauseate me.

I sit on my bed, boiling with frustration. Everything is rough and scratchy. I want to tear off my own skin. _Wouldn't it be chilly with no skin on?_ a voice that sounds suspiciously like my third grade music teacher titters. Well, it's better than feeling like the air is sandpaper.

"Ash."

Blinking, I wrench my head up to see Spencer standing near the entrance to the bedroom.

"Hi?" I choke, confused.

"I thought I'd come looking for you." She stands there awkwardly.

I don't know what to do...

I still don't know what to do. Deep breaths counting to ten.

Okay, now I feel like a hyperventilating walrus. Thanks a lot, Life Skills.

"Are you all right?" Spencer asks, her eyes softening with concern.

"Uh, yeah." Like oddly-placed statues, we stand frozen. What am I supposed to say now? "Uh, so... how's it going?"

"Alright."

God, it feels so uncomfortable with her standing there like that. Why doesn't she sit down? Should I tell her to? What am I supposed to say? Sit down? That sounds too much like an order. "Please have a seat," I articulate carefully, then wince, at the formality of my voice.

Not seeming to care or notice, Spencer steps over and sits on the mattress of my bed next to me. Her posture is perfect, but painfully proper. "I've never really gotten a good look at your bedroom before," she remarks. Her head swivels. I panic, seeing the clothes strewn everywhere. The poems taped up all over the walls and ceiling look tacky. Talise has always insisted on posting them everywhere, and I've never cared enough about interior decoration to object.

"About the poems—" I begin.

"Which one is your favorite?" she asks quietly.

"Um." There's a few I like, but I've never been able to pinpoint a favorite. "I don't really have a favorite poem." Sometimes, in the dark, it fells like they're creeping up on me. They're going to smother me in my sleep one of these days. Seriously, I had a nightmare where I woke up with balls of paper in my mouth.

"Well, think about it." She pushes me lightly down onto the bed, and falls with a thump next to me. The silence becomes stiff. It shouldn't be stiff. Silence is a good thing. Silence keeps me from making a bigger idiot out of myself. Around Spencer though, I just have to say something—anything to know what's on her mind. I can't stand not knowing what she's thinking.

Because what if she's thinking that she doesn't want to be near me?

Feverishly, my fly over the walls and ceiling. I need something to say—something to keep her from coming to the logical conclusion. She has no reason to be here with me. "My favorite poem is that one," I sputter finally, eyes latching onto a poem Talise printed out years ago. She took a stepladder and taped it to the ceiling. Halfway through the night, I walked into said stepladder on my way trough the bathroom.

"Which?" There's no sign that she detected my unease.

"The one over there. 'Like This.'"

_(1) Like This_

_(Young man in an Asylum)_

_It must be some lonely disease I have  
__To feel so lonely like this,  
__And not for company I see  
__The others like this, like this,  
__It only makes more isolate  
__To see another like this,  
__Oh nobody like this _likes_ this,  
__Or likes another like this._

_(2) Like This_

_(Young girl in an Asylum)_

_The greatest love?  
__The greatest love?  
__There is no love at all,  
__What love means is, To speak to me,  
__Not leave me in the cold._

_How very cold it is out here,  
__How bitterly the wind blows,  
__O Love, why did you dedicate me  
__To the snows?_

_-Stevie Smith_

_"That's...clever," coughing to clear her throat, Spencer continues, "and sad." Her arm brushes against mine, and I try not to make a noise. When she speaks again, it's with an unexpected intensity_. "Do you sometimes feel like everything around you is about to collapse if you don't pull the secret lever, but in trying to reach the lever your steps will send everything tumbling to—to somewhere?"

"Not really," I say, wondering where she's going with this. I know I'm meant to take it seriously, but it all sounds a little overdramatic to me. "But if the world's going to collapse anyways, then why not try for the lever."

"What if you're not sure where the lever is or if it even exists?"

"Isn't that the same principle? It's going to collapse so you might as well try."

"What if you're not sure whether the world is going to collapse? What if by reaching for that lever, you'll send everything crashing?"

"Then, I guess you do whatever feels right." Her gaze presses on me, as if she expects me to know the answer. Suddenly, I become defensive. "Am I supposed to know the answer to this? You keep changing the question! What should I do? Read the future?" Feeling cornered, I recoil and glare at her.

Limbs rippling, she springs back to her feet. "I don't know what's real or not!" she shouts. The skin on her face is tight, lined with angst. "I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing or being selfish or ungrateful or cowardly. There just isn't a right thing to do." For a moment, her eyes demand a response from me. We stare at each other, both slightly shocked by her outburst, listening to the sound of her angry breathing. When she sighs and sits down, I twist my fingers through my hair. I'm starting to feel sick. I just want life to be perfect—effortless— to fall into place like a lucky solitaire spread, but life is just like solitaire in that way. How do you know you'll get a good spread?

Why can't there be a solution to life? Why isn't life a math problem where, if you do the right things, then you'll get your happily ever after? It might be a pain to learn, but at least you know the answer is real. You won't fall into a black hole, and someone out there will teach you how to get to the solution. All you have to do is add a2 and b2 . Math is annoying, confusing and impossible, but it always makes sense at the end.

"I'm sorry, Ash," she relents.

But what about Pythagoro—Pythagrates (was that his name?) Whatever his name was, he had to understand a2+b2=c2 on his own. No one could have told him, _Yes that's right. That's what you're supposed to do_. Nobody could have told him that he had gotten it right even when he was done. Even though he was some Ancient Greek math nerd, at least he was a gutsy Ancient Greek math nerd. Unlike Aristotle or Ptolemy, teachers don't just mention him as a "this is how far we've advanced since this guy" topic. He got it right. The worst thing is though, Pythagoras (that's his name) could still be proven wrong. In a hundred years, maybe people will laugh at us for thinking gravity exists when it's obviously magnetism that holds the world together. Certainty is useless.

"I'm sorry." It was my fault, right? I'm the one that snapped at her first. "I don't know what you should do," I concede. Pythagoras might have been able to declare with unwavering conviction that a2+b2=c2, but I can't. I live with the fact that I don't know anything every single day. It's starting to eat me alive.

"That's okay." Briefly, I speculate if Spencer is psychic. That would be ridiculous. _But maybe everyone in the world is psychic but you, and they're all playing a giant practical joke on you_. Oh god, I think I need to go to the asylum. I'd rather be lonely than keep thinking like this. This is Descartes' job. On the other hand, I just had a revelation.

"Well, _maybe_, you could build scaffolding or something around the world so it won't fall down."

"What?" Spencer looks bewildered.

"You know, so that you can pull the lever," I explain weakly. Silence is officially amazing.

"Right..."

She gets up and starts wandering around the room, staring at the walls. "'I'm Nobody!'", she murmurs softly. Stopping next to my bed, she reads the poem silently for a moment. "I've always hated this poem. I don't really like Emily Dickinson much." Shrugging, I fight the urge to rip the poem from the wall and tear it into pieces. I stand next to her, fingers twitching, skimming over the short poem. It feels like forever before she looks my way again. "It's almost like two people who are thrilled to have finally found someone who understands them, and they're both so excited that they keep interrupting each other and finishing each other's sentences," she tells me abruptly. "I don't know. This may be the first time I haven't thrown up after looking at this poem."

"I don't see how there are two people," I admit, feeling stupid.

"At the dashes, it's like the speaker is changing. Try it."

"Huh?"

Suddenly, Spencer starts reading the poem out loud, her voice higher than usual, verging on giddy. "I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you—" Okay, now she's looking at me weird. "Read until the next dash, Ashley," she prompts.

"Oh, um," I stutter. I haven't been following along. "Uh, —Nobody—. Uh, wait. Is that right? It is right, right?" Fantastic, I've managed to confuse myself.

Spencer's white teeth flash in her pink mouth as she laughs. My breath catches in the back of my throat when I realize how close I'm standing to her. When it unhooks itself, I drag the air in, immersed in the smell of her shampoo or perfume. Whatever it is, I can't stop myself from reaching out for her arm, tugging her just a little closer. Her eyes dart down to my hand before meeting my eyes.

Those eyes are such a bright, bright blue. They're a full blue too, not Joe's insipid, pale watercolor, Glen's piercing ice, or her parents' empty tropical seas. They're cerulean, they're azure, they're shining sapphire stones, they're impossible.

And they've got _depth_. And maybe Spencer's not the only one who's had a change of heart about a piece of literature tonight. Pulling away from the overwhelming color, I blink. What's wrong with me tonight? I keep going into these absurdly dramatic monologues like some half-assed novelist trying too hard to sound smart.

"Yeah, it was right," she answers breathlessly. Fingers wrap themselves around my hand, prying them off her arm. I watch our fingers lace together. "Let's try again. Are you—Nobody—too?" She pauses for a moment, and I smile at her, nodding. "Then there's a pair of us!" she exclaims eagerly. Without warning, Spencer's face is inches from mine. "Don't tell! they'd advertise—" she whispers conspiratorially. Giving me a pointed look, she gestures with her chin towards the poem.

"—you know," I finish. She nudges me, mouthing for me to keep going. All I can think about is how close she is. "How dreary—"

"—to be—"

"—Somebody! How public—"

"—Like a Frog—"

"—To tell one's name—"

"—the livelong June—"

"—To an admiring Bog!" By the time we're done, both of us are snickering uncontrollably.

Spencer collapses on my bed, gasping for breath. I flop next to her. "I feel like an idiot," she admits.

"Well, I feel like Nobody." And, that, for some reason starts us laughing again. Vaguely, I wonder if this is what it's like to be on laughing gas. Everything is just a rush of sound and joy. When we finally manage to collect ourselves, I look over at Spencer, seeing the last vestige of her laughter in her gasping smile.

"Hey, Ash," she says softly. I look over at her. "There's stars out tonight." Glancing at the window, I discover she's right. Faintly, a few dots of white make themselves known in the darkening sky. Really, I muse, they were there the first time we met, we just couldn't see them. Who knows when we'll see them again?

Then, my mouth is on hers.

I think Pythagoras would be proud.

* * *

**Hmm... in what poem did Edgar Allan Poe spend three pages insulting a guy named Pitts?**


End file.
